


Where Is the Lamb Sauce?

by Llexeh



Series: Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Crack Treated Seriously, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone is at least a bit ooc, M/M, More tags to come maybe still sorry y’all, Other Additional Tags Following, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Slash, The author is asking for patience and support, Truth or Dare Trope, Wet Dream, diplomatic missions make Tony drink, shameless pop culture references, stealing a goat is super romantic, the Author Needs a Hug, these people are ooc don't @ me about it I warned y'all, yes still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-21 05:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11937744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llexeh/pseuds/Llexeh
Summary: He'd take a good old fist fight over this whole thing. But at the end of the day, they were halfway across the world, as civilians as Avengers get. On a diplomatic mission in a corrupt unstable country. And of course there's a carnival of sorts, an old gypsy woman, and farm animals. At this point, all Steve wanted was for Tony to have joked about the Captain America statue.





	1. Up His Sleevies!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joeybelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joeybelle/gifts).



> Hello my lovelies. I'm the worst, I know. Basically work got in the way, life happened, and I have to make arrangements to move across the continent. Again. Look at me talk like I've got a follower base. Anyway, this is a two-chapter instalment. Partly because it's long af, but also cause it's better than not posting at all. (And because Joey's always right.) I wish I could tell you when the second chapter will be up, but I honestly have no idea. I tried to end this at a right time, no cliffhangers, and at the end of a long scene. 
> 
> Take note that this is ridiculous even by my standards. It's meant to be funny, but I'm afraid all I managed to do is write them as beyond ooc. There are pop culture references, a sex dream (yay something kinda hot is happening), and more tags to come once the second chapter is up.
> 
> Gift for Joey, who is my fanfiction soulmate and bae. Forever grateful for your support and unparalleled ability to put up with me. iubmultben
> 
> Also, this is not Yank-wanked (how fucking funny is this term, oh my god) - I forget to spell words the American way like 90% of the time, so excuse words that look odd. 
> 
> Very unbeta-ed. Unbetaed? Unbeta'ed? Very much still awkward.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth or Dare was not Steve's first idea of fun, especially when he couldn't get drunk, but his people had the puppy eyes and he couldn't resist them. Add a wet dream to overthink about, some flirting, a couple of dares and oh, shit.

The fourth time Steve was left speechless by how attractive Tony was, the surrounding smell of farm should have been a turn off. But Steve’s sense of sight decided to be superior to all his other senses, and despite him being a city boy thrown in new territory, his legs almost gave out as he struggled for words.

The first thing he noticed was that things weren’t familiar. The setting of the room wasn’t familiar, and neither were the sheets he could feel under his back. It was perhaps odd to have such a strong sense of familiarity towards bedding, but Steve was adamant those weren’t his sheets. They were smoother and upon a second look, a baby blue he wasn’t accustomed to.

The second thing he noticed were the thick ropes that held his arms back and securely tied to dark wooden bedposts. He tried wiggling them, but there was no room. Then he tried pulling at them, but they wouldn’t give. Steve’s heart sank. He dreaded looking down, but braced himself and was relieved to see the body he was used to. Missing a shirt.

The ceiling was white, then off white, then it disappeared and he could see the night sky. A door opened somewhere in the room.

“And what have we here?” He knew the voice brutally well. “Steve, you should have said something, sweetheart!”

Tony sounded to be closing in on the bed, but Steve found he couldn’t move his head anymore. The sky above him was lit with silent fireworks, then with shooting stars. He opened his mouth but no words came out, and the panic started to settle everywhere in his body. He knew theoretically he was safe, because this was Tony, but he also felt vulnerable and in unfriendly territory.

He felt the cold as his trousers disappeared. It wasn’t his favourite feeling in the world, the cold, but it was soon abated when a hand came to rest on his knee. It moved up on his thigh, scratching lightly. It stopped at his left hip, rubbing at the bone.

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” Tony said as he pulled his boxers down.

Steve still couldn’t move his head, and he couldn’t ask any of the questions that were bombarding his mind. The hand moved again, and this time he felt the fingers pat the outline of his dick. His breath hitched. The room dissolved and he was now sitting at a desk, his wrists free, wearing a shirt and a tie, looking towards faceless people who were saying things he didn’t understand.

He nearly jumped out when he felt them, but the hands were pressing down on his thighs and he tried his best to be inconspicuous when he looked down. Tony was grinning at him, a finger quickly pressed to his lips. He made quick work of unzipping his trousers despite Steve’s best efforts to discreetly slap the wandering hands off. He felt his boxers being pulled down and actually gasped loudly when lips closed in on the head of his half hard dick.

“Captain, are you okay?” one of the faceless people asked, and Steve nodded, not trusting his voice. “We were thinking you could give the presentation on -”

“Out. Get out!” he shouted, unable to control himself any longer.

“Steve that’s rude,” Tony’s voice admonished. It came from another one of the people in the room, but it couldn’t have been because Tony was currently hollowing his cheeks around half of his dick while working his way lower on it.

“Now! Get out now!” he shouted again, and banged his hand on the desk for good measure.

The group scrambled towards the door, and after they were all gone, Steve heard the unmistakable sound of the lock twisting.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, pushing himself away from the desk. But Tony moved with him, his mouth seemingly glued to his cock. He mumbled something that only made everything worse, as he slid further down, and vibrated a little as well. Steve grabbed his hair and pulled him off, standing up in the process.

“Why’d you stop me?” Tony asked, his lips glistening.

“Because it’s fucking insane, that’s why!”

“Talk dirty to me, Cap,” the scientist said and made grabby hands at Steve’s dick.

“No, we need to stop this. I don’t even know how we got here!”

“What do you mean? We’re in your office, I sneaked in at lunch, and this is your first anniversary present. Happy anniversary, darling!” He moved to get his mouth back around Steve, but the Captain’s hands tightened in the scientist’s hair and kept him there.

“I don’t understand -”

Tony nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, you can fuck my mouth! Even better!”

Steve frowned but the room dissolved again and when it put itself back together, Tony was sprawled on the desk, his head hanging backwards off it. Steve watched in horror and fascination as his dick disappeared in the other man’s mouth rhythmically. He saw his throat bulge again and again as Tony swallowed his dick.

“Captain!”

Steve actually shrieked, jumped, reached for his shield, and ultimately fell in a heap on the hard floor.

“You alright?” He could see Natasha’s outline in the backlit crack in the door.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Yeah, just startled.”

“Sorry, I tried knocking but you didn’t answer and we need to be up in fifteen minutes.” She paused, his frantic breathing filling the silent room. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, fifteen minutes. I got this. See you in a few.”

Natasha shut the door and with that, the light disappeared as well. Steve let his body fall to the side, groaning as he went. Fuck his entire life. Like, hold it by the head and fuck it - no, too soon. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table. Missed calls, messages, 5:07. He could tell them he was unavailable. Some illness, perhaps a cold. Sure, the serum would prevent that, but this cold was special. He had to sleep a lot to overcome it. Yeah, sleep and dream some more. His dick was so hard it was painful. He started to reach down when his phone vibrated in his hand and he shrieked for the second time that morning. Tony. Of course.

_Chop chop Captain, boring diplomatic adventures await us_

Steve groaned and readjusted his dick.

_Are you up yet?_

Steve could just die.

_No, seriously, Steve, hurry up. I’ve had literally no sleep and too much coffee and I’m bouncing off the walls_

Steve closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and the bulge of Tony’s throat came to mind so fast he could swear he got whiplash.

_That’s it I’m coming in_

Steve had about two seconds to pull the duvet around his midsection in hopes of covering his erection. Tony barged in and zoned in on the bed. When that came out empty, he looked around and eventually his eyes settled on the pile of Steve on the floor.

“You alright, Cap?”

“Peachy,” Steve replied, covering his face with his hands. “Maybe you could go without me? I mean, your company invested and Natasha can charm everyone.”

Tony came in and sat on the edge of his bed. “Couple of problems: you’re on the official invitation. Then there’s the issue of the posters that you need to sign.” Steve groaned. “Then there’s the fact they’ve just unveiled the statue of you, so they’re kinda keen on having you there,” Tony continued undeterred. “Then there’s the boredom issue, cause if it’s just me and Nat we’ll both go insane and she’ll probably throw knives at me for fun and you won’t be there to stop her and she’ll just pretend her hand slipped and she’ll get me in the face and I’ll have a face scar and that will just inflate my ego and y’all will have to put up with that and really it’s tiring just thinking about it -”

“Oh my god, please! Please shut up.” Steve shouted from under the pillow he pulled from the bed and was currently using to try to smother himself. “How can you talk so much?”

“Really? Have you met me?”

“No, where have you been all my life?” Steve asked, the exchange now a running joke between them, months after that night.

Tony laughed, as he always did when Steve replied with that line. “Good, you’re alive. Now, what do you mean Natasha can charm everyone? And I can’t? What kind of bullshit is this, Steve? Do you not think I’m charming?” He nudged Steve with his foot repeatedly until the Captain finally gave up.

“You are the most obnoxious person I have ever met. And I grew up with Bucky, was friends with your dad, _and_ the entire Howling Commandos!” Steve told him, throwing the pillow at his face.

“Why, thank you, darling!” Tony replied cheerfully.

Steve froze. It was the same voice, the same word, the same happy tone. Again, it was surreal, and panic surged through his body. There was no way Tony could have known about that, but there was no way a lot of things, and here he was, in the future and a superhero. He shook himself and sat up, letting the duvet pool in his lap.

“Why are you stil here, Stark?” he asked with a yawn.

“I don’t trust you won’t go back to sleep. Natasha made me sit here until you’re in the shower.”

“No, she didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!” Tony shouted towards the door. “You said ‘we should check on Steve in a bit, he sounded asleep’ so I’m waiting for him to get in the shower!”

Clint appeared in the doorway, blanket around his shoulders, chest covered in bandages.

Steve facepalmed. “No, please, come in! Got any friends who want to step into this reunion?” he asked sarcastically.

“Tony, it’s five in the morning. I just got in two hours ago, I’m tired, I’m bruised and I’ve been clawed at in the most unsexy way of my life. Please, for the love of everything, shut the fuck up.” He yawned.

“You okay?” Tony asked more quietly.

“Yeah, got patched up downstairs,” he said and walked in to plop on Steve’s bed. “Fuck it, I’m too tired.” He reached over and pulled the duvet off Steve, swiftly making a cocoon out of it. He arranged the blanket around his head and sighed happily in his new nest. “Thanks Steve, you’re the best.”

On one hand, Steve wanted nothing more than to have a nest like that of his one. On the other hand, he was now left unprotected, his dick still half hard in his pyjama bottoms. He allowed Tony to pull him to his feet, and turned to walk to the bathroom.

“Oh, he’s up alright!” Tony shouted towards the door, presumably to Natasha, or the entirety of Manhattan. Steve was particularly happy with the sharp ‘ow, Clint!’ that followed.  

***

He was grateful he had the forethought to hang his clothes up. He buttoned the shirt quickly, threw the grey tie around his neck, and draped the blazer on his arm. Tony’s private plane would be warm, and it would be too uncomfortable to add another layer of clothing, regardless of how expensive it was. Clint was fast asleep when he left his room, and he snickered as he tucked his colleague in better.

“Finally!” Tony got up and started towards the elevator.

Steve sighed and followed with Natasha. “We were meant to leave at 7:30?”

“Change of plans!” Tony said.

“Because…?”

“Because he hadn’t slept and couldn’t entertain himself for another two hours or so,” Natasha answered and shoved the scientist a little.

“Sure,” Steve agreed sarcastically. “I mean sleep is just plain unnecessary really. We should all just not sleep and instead go into people’s rooms and harass them until they snap. That’s a much better plan.”

“Told you he’d see the light,” Tony told Natasha and laughed when Steve shoved him as well.

The first part of the ride was fine. They went over their schedule, discussed the politics in the Eastern European country they were going to over coffee, and caught up on the others’ missions over breakfast. They left Bruce a message to check on Clint when he woke up, and asked Wanda to update them on her mission in Argentina.

Once the administrative business was out of the way, Natasha pulled her dossiers out and set to work. Tony sighed and concentrated on the diagrams on his tablet. Steve had learned the hard way not to go anywhere without some form of entertainment. Waiting when there was nothing to occupy your mind with was the absolute worst, so he pulled his little sketchbook out.

It was comfortable, working on various things side by side. The plane wasn’t as fast as the quinjet, but this wasn’t an Avengers mission, and they wanted to come across as diplomats. Steve found himself actually wishing they were going into battle, because that required little to no civilian interaction, no small talk, and no forced smiles. And he wouldn’t have to wear a suit.

He realised halfway through that he was sketching an office. The office from his dream, to be precise. He froze, looked around. The other two were engrossed in their respective activities, and Steve tried to be rational about it. There was no way any of them could have known about his dream. The office was non-descript as far as he could tell, and even as he remembered it in vivid detail, the entire sequence of events was too surreal and fragmented. Not for the first time he found himself thanking Jesus, Joseph, and Mary that none of his immediate friends - family - was able to read minds. Then he promptly felt guilty about the level of blasphemy reached with that exclamation. Then his guilt escalated as soon as he glanced down at is drawing and he imagined the detailed way in which he would draw Tony’s arched back, his fingers pressing into a roughly sketched Steve Rogers. A man shape, really, because all Steve wanted was to capture the glistening of Tony’s lips, wet around his dick, the glint in his eyes showing he knew exactly what he was doing.

Steve looked up instinctively. Tony was looking straight at him, head cocked to the side, the sparkle in his eyes curious but not knowing. Steve felt a heatwave engulf him, toes to forehead, to extremities, and he had to cough just to have something to do, anything.

“What are you thinking about?” the scientist asked him, a small smile forming on his face.

“Oh. I just - I just remembered something from the war,” he lied, trying to conjure a memory of those times.

“Must be something naughty,” Tony said conspiratorially, “to put that expression on your face.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Just a bit surreal,” he replied. “And what expression? I didn’t have any particular expression?” he scoffed.

“You looked like someone was giving you a lap dance,” Natasha joined in without looking up from the papers.

Steve laughed, trying to hide the nervousness. A master spy and a nosy curious pain in the ass. Great. “That’s one way of putting it,” he said and settled for a mysterious smile in terms of facial muscles. His jaw ached from the strain of controlling his expressions. Not as much as dream Tony’s must have hurt though. Beautiful, glorious mild pain that was caused by the strong desire to please Steve. Not only was his dick officially stirred, so was the longing in his heart. Excellent. This was going to be a wonderful trip.

“There he goes again. Cap, you should share with us. It might help us survive the full day ahead of us,” Nat said patiently.

“Yeah, nothing like imagining sex acts in front of officials we’re meeting in a country that’s still kind of unstable,” Steve quipped.

“Well, it’s not like we can do crosswords in front of them,” Tony offered, the last couple of words slurred by a huge yawn.

“You would,” Natasha countered.

“Yeah, but then you’d be bored. This way we can all think of Steve’s obscene memories and we’ll all be entertained,” he said and reclined his seat, then squirmed until he found a comfortable position.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Steve sighed.

“Oh my god, just let me sleep, all you ever do is talk and wake me up and I have frankly had enough,” Tony snapped mockingly. His eyes were shut, but the smile on his face was telling. He settled deeper into the comfortable seat.

Steve turned to Natasha. “Next time you want to tell me to leave my shield at home, just don’t.”

She snorted. “What were you going to do, bash his head in with it?”

“Play ultimate frisbee and hope he catches it with his face,” Steve deadpanned.

“I’m asleep, not dead, you know.”

“You’re annoying is what you are,” Steve muttered.

It was the truth. Well, it was mostly the truth. Half truth. Yeah, he was annoying, but he was also incredibly endearing. There were things about him that Steve was certain were unique, even with seven billion people in the world. He briefly entertained the thought that it was perhaps because he was so unbelievably in love with the man, he was seeing things either in better light, or he was making them up. Could he have been so smitten that he was fabricating realities about the scientist? And was that really _such_ a bad thing?

Fast asleep, Tony looked peaceful. Sure, he’d seen the man sleep before. Asleep, in a mild coma, technicalities really. There was a serene look on his face, a cliche Steve had read in each and every bad romance novel he’d come across (and devoured, but those were harsh times, when there was no internet, and if you got a book, any book, you read and reread it until it was disintegrating because the wait for action was excruciating and entertainment was rare and often repetitive and crude and sometimes he just really wanted to read a book.)

So there was a serene look on his face, complete with adorable nose scrunching and subsequent resettling into the seat. His head bent backwards a bit, trying to reach a comfortable spot, and Steve felt his eyes water with the strain of not blinking. Because Tony’s throat bulged just the tiniest bit, but it was enough for the onslaught of thoughts and feelings, and the more he looked the more Steve wanted to just kiss the curve of the man’s neck, and nibble on the tendons there. He sighed.

Natasha caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. She must have known something was up, this was starting to be a recurring thing. In some way, he was always inquiring after Tony, watching over him, agonising over him; it seemed his life and his emotions were revolving around the man, and Nat was not only an excellent observer, but she was also very close to Steve. So it made sense that she would have some sort of idea. But he shook his head and resigned himself to the semi he was currently sporting, and allowed himself to just look at the other man. They were hours away, he was too winded up to sleep, Natasha was busy, and Steve just wanted to sit there and fantasise about swinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders and walking down the street, occasionally turning to kiss his temple. And in between, if he thought about being pressed into the seat and fucked slowly until he had to beg to be allowed to come, well then Steve was completely screwed and he knew it.

***

Politicians were slimy and disgusting everywhere, Steve knew this first hand, but there was something special about the rows and rows of corrupt members of Parliament, of state secretaries, ministers, just waiting for their turn to greet them. Some had ugly grins on, some sneered openly. There was great social unrest, and in light of the recent development under a government that wasn’t _as_ hated as the previous one, their diplomatic visit would weigh a lot.

On the one hand, the political leaders were showing willingness to adhere to regulations regarding corruption and public spending, on the other hand, they were proving investments by subsidiaries of Stark Industries and Maria Stark Foundation went where they were meant to. Pepper had been adamant about the development of domestic abuse shelters and creating support networks for children orphaned by the fighting and uprisings. Besides, they wanted to showcase the three Avengers to their people, who were wary of their ulterior motives. But the Avengers were a safe bet, especially these three, with their looks and technology and history. The people trusted them, and now they got to see them in person.

Steve hated all of it. He’d seen it before, so had Tony. Natasha was closely acquainted with these tactics. It was throwing morsels of democracy to an upset people and expect them to worship you. The three of them were there to ensure the subtle threat didn’t go unnoticed. If the country fucked up again, if the people were to suffer again, there would be no more aid. There would be no more diplomatic missions. Tony was capable and willing to commission planes, paint them in happy colours, and use them to transport all the children to the tower. There would probably be enough room to house all of them if they bunked. The whole political situation was temporary anyway. The power void left by the uprisings needed to be filled. This was the lesser evil, and it would have to do for the time being.

By the end of the red carpet, Steve thought he could grow an ecosystem on his palm given how many hands he’d shaken. He smiled and responded to greetings, and filed faces away for later. They were to be introduced to roomfuls of directors, less important directors, councilpeople, ill fitting suits and solid gold tie pins.

When they finally made it to their assigned car, Steve was ready to bolt, make a run for the plane and fly back home. Despite his track record with flying towards that part of the world, he was willing to risk it. It seemed he wasn’t the only one, if the nudge to his ribs was any indication.

“Should we leg it? What are they gonna do, shoot us?” Tony whispered.

“I will,” Natasha said calmly, eyes not leaving her phone.

“We’re on foreign soil, imagine how much crap Hill would have to deal with. On second thought, I’m down if you’re down. Just aim for the leg, I can get sympathetic looks from heart eyed locals. You know, with the limp and everything -”

“Nat, please just shoot me instead. In the right ear, clean through the other side, done. Peace and quiet,” Steve asked rubbing at his tired eyes.

“You hurt me, Cap,” Tony said in an affected voice.

“Keep being this annoying and I just might.”

“Promise? It’s been so long since I’ve –” He stopped mid sentence, just as Steve opened his mouth to swear at him. The sound of a gun being cocked made them both turn and look at Natasha. “Really? And you all call me dramatic?”

“Tony. Enough, it’s just us in a car in a foreign country. I already checked for bugs, everything has been cleared by SHIELD. Please,” she told him simply.

The man regarded her for a couple of seconds before reclining back in his seat and sighing. “I shouldn’t have let you work in legal,” he replied, a note of wistfulness in his voice.

Natasha snorted and patted his knee affectionately. Steve was confused, but things seemed alright, so he kept quiet despite the loudness of his mind. He focused on the lights rushing by as they were being driven to their hotel.

There was some more fuss once they reached the lobby and as they were led to their suite. Top of the building, ornate beyond good taste, with antique gaudy furniture and gold trimmings. Steve was in awe of the magnitude of the sham they were involved in. He bit his tongue and smiled his best friendly smile for the starry-eyed employees who were timid in their polite request for photos and autographs.

Once the door was shut he unceremoniously plopped down on the burgundy sofa and loosened his tie. He sighed dramatically, venturing into almost whining territory. Natasha opened her suitcase and pulled out a tablet like device, then started to methodically scan the large room.

“Oh, look, we’re in a spy movie!” Tony said casually.

“Well, I am a spy, and there might be cameras so you might as well be right.”

“Common thing, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” He walked around for a bit, inspecting the worn carvings on the furniture. “Is this a sixties spy movie though? What do you think, Cap? Feeling the Soviet oppression looming yet?”

Steve shrugged from his increasingly slouching position. “I missed the sixties,” he said simply.

“I would actually pay money to see you with John Lennon hair!”

“Again, you’re rich, it doesn’t mean much that you’d pay if it wouldn’t put a dent in-”

“What the fuck is _that_?” he interrupted with a slight shril in his voice.

“Rude. What is what?” Natasha asked from behind the curtains.

“ _That!_ ” Tony shrieked and gestured wildly to the tv perched on the cabinet. “Where are we, oh my god!”

Steve had managed to overlook it, although once it came into focus, he wasn’t entirely sure how. The piece of furniture was only part of the odd ensemble, despite how massive it was. There were signs of recent polish, hastily executed judging by the streaks left behind. The brass handles were dull to say the least. In the towering sides, behind equally streaky glass, there was a large ensemble of porcelain figurines.

Steve actually had to get up to take a closer look. He stood next to Tony and unwittingly mimicking his position, head cocked to the left in an attempt to make sense of it all. He identified a somewhat faded ballerina and a dog that looked crippled and sad among the figurines.

“What year is it?” Tony whispered.

“Backwards o’clock?” Natasha answered as she joined them. She quickly scanned the cabinet before bursting into laughter. “Pietro and Wanda are gonna lose their shit,” she said and took a photo of the whole thing.

“Good, evidence,” Tony said absentmindedly as he approached the flat screen tv. “Oh my god, look!” He tapped Steve’s forearm repeatedly until the latter reacted.

“Looks new,” he offered.

“It’s new alright,” Tony agreed and peeled the protective film covering the screen in one swift motion.

Steve had a brief thought that Tony doing mundane homely things was beautiful. He stifled it quickly before it developed further.

It turned out the tv wasn’t connected to anything, so it showed a bright black screen with instructions in a language neither of them spoke. Tony sighed and went to unplug it “before it caught fire”. The initial gasp and then the second and third louder and more pronounced gasps signalled Steve he should offer his undivided attention.

“You okay?”

“Steve,” Tony said gravely. “These are the markings of our ancestors,” he explained and pointed to the scuffed surface of the cabinet.

“What?”

“This tv’s daddy was ancient, and until very recently it lived right here!”

Steve was torn between a sigh, an eyeroll, and a heart flutter at the other man’s antics. So he settled for all of them. “So they brought in a new one for us. And it doesn’t work, excellent.”

“You’re missing some important details.” Natasha told them.

“What are you - what is that?” Steve asked and it was his turn to be shocked. It was such a sore sight his mind must have overlooked it completely. Perching dangerously in the thin top of the tv there was the most surreal fish shaped blown glass ornament. It was painted in bright oranges and blues, and under it, dangling slightly over the edge of the screen but mostly on the back of the tv, a yellowed doily.

It was too much: the pompousness of it all added to Steve’s fatigue induced crankiness. The perpetual state of hyperawareness of Tony’s presence didn’t help, combined with how fake and politically driven it all was made him turn on his heel and walk towards one of the adjacent rooms.

“I’ll try get some sleep, see you in the morning for the rest of this shitshow,” he announced and dragged his luggage into an equally ornate bedroom, complete with four poster bed adorned with cupids and paintings of snowy peaks.

“Steeeve,” he heard Tony whine, still rubbing at the marks on the cabinet, trying to come to terms with the reality that the suite they were currently sharing housed an old massive tv until very recently.

“Yes?” he answered cooly. It was unfair to take it out on Tony, but seeing how everything sucked, Steve honestly didn’t care all that much.

The other man paused mid-step at his response. “You, ah - you want some dinner? We’re gonna order something from downstairs.”

“Not particularly hungry, but you guys enjoy now,” he said and smiled to try for some friendly demeanor as the he shut the door.

He heard them talk quietly, but focused on tasks he set for himself. It was uncommon for him to be this moody and this grumpy and this everything, really, but it seemed that ever since Natasha’s birthday, Tony had a horrendously large impact on his mind. Anxiety wasn’t new to Steve, neither were self-doubt, lack of confidence, and overthinking. His mind was loud on good days, and his brain worked better when he had to actively focus.

So he unpacked, folded, refolded, and hung his clothes. He showered meticulously, fingernails to toenails, to hair tips. He towel dried until his skin felt a bit tender, before quickly healing. He changed into pyjama bottoms, got into bed, pulled the duvet precisely up to his sternum, turned the lamp off, and proceeded to stare into the darkness.

His first thought was that Hydra had captured him. He could tell he was being watched, so with his heartbeat gone into overdrive, he listened for signs. There was a clear indent on the mattress next to him, and he tried to come up with a plan. If Hydra had him they wouldn’t get in bed with him, right? Was he even in bed anymore? He wished more than anything he could dive and reach for his shield. But its usual spot at the foot of the bed was empty in the name of diplomatic missions and Steve could have honestly punched something in frustration.

He decided the best course of action was to open his eye as little as possible and try to make something out in the dark. The very dim blue hue that met him made his heart race even faster, this time with the comfort of its familiarity, as well as with the implications. He opened his eyes fully and stared in its general direction.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

“Oh my god, surely you can’t be serious.”

“I am serious… and don’t call me Shirley.”

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re joking, right?”

Steve had the ability to jump right out and into action, but with the lack of imminent danger he found himself sluggish and oddly at ease despite the tension in his lower back that came with Tony’s proximity. “What are you on about?”

“You just quoted ‘Airplane!’,” he offered.

“No idea,” Steve reassured him.

“They should have called you Captain Wonder for your ability to astonish me.”

Steve could smell the alcohol on his breath, he was that close. It was a poignant smell, almost of medicine, mixed with something sweet, perhaps raspberry? “Yeah, they thought that might be too obvious and you’d catch on. Your father came up to me -”

“Don’t mention my dad when we’re in bed together. Jesus!”

Steve’s internal organs did a _thing_ of sorts, like they were uncertain how to keep going. “Don’t mention Jesus when you’re in my bed. Why _are_ you in my bed?”

“What about God?”

“Only if it’s preceded by ‘oh’,” he risked.

“Are you flirting, Captain Wonder?”

“ _Your father came up to me_ ,” Steve pressed on, rather enjoying the other man’s shudder, “and said ‘you know what, Steven, I’m gonna work with a team to turn you into this guy who will be able to completely astonish my son. I mean I don’t know when I’ll be having a son, but I know for sure he’ll be very much like me, so a complete asshole, and he’ll need to be shut up, and astonishment is a must!’”

Tony’s laugh had transcended regular amusement and had turned into ugly guwaffing, which Steve found annoyingly endearing. But he would, the big idiot, because why would he not have a crush on the world’s most _extra_ man? He read about that new slang word on the internet, and he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he felt cool using it, even if it was just in his thoughts.

“I can’t!”

“Oh, he also said ‘we’ll make up this story about you needing to fight Nazis and that’s why we’re doing all this, but you know the truth about your true calling in life, and on top of that maybe we’ll get lucky and you’ll freeze for fifty years to catch him at a prime time for astounding!’”

“Told you to leave him alone, Tony,” Nat shouted from the other room. “If he kills you I won’t blame him.”

Steve allowed himself a chuckle. He’d done well. “Why are you in my bed, though?”

“Ah, fuck that was funny.” He turned on his side and faced Steve once again, wiping tears from his face. “What, a man can’t slide into your bed without you questioning him?

Steve sighed. “Stark…”

“Ouch, last names treatment! Harsh, Rogers!”

“Fine. Tony…”

“Oh, okay! So Natasha and I raided the mini bar cause we both napped on the way, and both our sleeping schedules are completely fucked. And we gave up on the tv after the cables were actually part of the old set and really for a VHS, who even uses that anymore -”

“What’s VHS?”

“Oh, child. And so we tried to entertain ourselves but it got old quickly and we agreed that you’re extremely important to both of us and we wanted you to come join us for some fun and -”

Natasha opened the door fully, blinding both of them. She knocked only after that, mostly mockingly. “Fuck’s sake, it sounds like a threesome. We don’t mean it like a threesome, Steve.”

“You do know what a threesome is, right?” Tony asked at the same time as Steve said, “It does sound a little like a threesome, not gonna lie.”

“Oh, good! You know what we’re talking about! Not that. Now come join us since you’re a pivotal part of this team!”

“Aww,” Steve cooed and smiled at Tony. Then he dropped the act. “No, go away,” he added and shut his eyes tightly. Maybe if he ignored Tony for long enough he would give up. It was stupid of him to think that, in all honesty, given who Tony Stark was. He could feel the intense gaze on his face, but remained stoic in his quest of ignoring it. The warm breath got closer and closer until he could feel it right above his nose and mouth.

“Please please please, we’re bored and you’re our friend,” Tony insisted. “Are you asleep already? Steve? Steve? Steve!”

He opened his eyes only to stare into Tony’s smiling ones. “Tony! Tony! Tony! See how annoying this is?”

“Yes, Captain, how may I be of assistance?” he asked with exaggerated politeness.

“Why do you insist on annoying me so much?” He ignored what sounded like “pigtails” from the other room.

“It’s exceptionally engaging and my fast paced mind appreciates it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Or you could, you know, talk to me like a normal person instead of being irritating and making me want to… I don’t know, but it would involve pain.”

“Oh, I can take it! My safe word is Shakespeare,” he explained, eyes sparkling with something akin to mischief.

Steve turned on his back, rubbing at his face in defeat. “If I get up, is there any chance you’ll be less irritating?”

Tony jumped up and pulled the cover off Steve completely. “I can’t promise anything, but you won’t know until you try!”

“I feel like at this point there isn’t any point in even sighing, that’s how far gone you are,” he said and put on a show of struggling to get out of bed. “My age has finally caught up with me, I suppose.”

“Fossil, I tell ya,” Nat shouted in an exaggerated accent.

“Exactly.” Despite knowing there was no reason for it, Steve was distinctly self-conscious about Tony eyeing him as he looked for a top. He settled on one of the ones Sam gifted him for Christmas, and proceeded to roll his eyes yet again. By the time the trip would be over, he’d surely go blind.

When they joined Natasha, she was sprawled across the gaudy sofa, her legs draped over the back and the arm. She loosely held a remote as she switched the channels rapidly.

“Ah, I take it you got it to work?” Steve asked as he sat on one of the armchairs. Tony took the other one.

“200 channels in variations of Russian, movies from the 70s, and German porn, music and all. Hence, this.” She used her chin to point to what Steve could only describe as a jug of reddish coloured liquid that she held in the nook of her arm. There were two straws connected to give her the extra length she needed to sip leisurely from it.

“One of these days we’ll need to find something for you to get drunk on,” Tony said as he downed his absinthe. Steve knew he recognised the smell.

“Please,” he said and shut his eyes, trying to focus on the different voices coming from the tv instead of thinking about his disturbingly hot dream. His peace lasted for only a couple of minutes before a shadow fell on him. “What?”

“Still bored,” came the reply.

“Oh, you mean my added presence in this room didn’t cure your boredom? Are you not entertained?” Steve asked mockingly.

“Okay, you’re doing this on purpose now,” Tony concluded, ignoring Natasha’s guwaffs.

“Doing what?”

“Quoting famous movies and pretending it’s an accident!”

Steve scoffed. “You know my acclimatisation was rushed and I don’t have the time to watch as much as I want,” he said as he crossed his arms.

“Mhm, bullshit,” he mocked-sneezed.

“What are you, five?”

Natasha barked a short laugh at something someone said on a tv show that made people throw themselves onto bouncing surfaces. She waved their confused looks away and sat up. “Okay, cards?”

Tony groaned as Steve shook his head.

“Come on, bit of Uno?” she tried again.

“I think the fuck not, I want us to leave here still friends. Try explaining to Fury that the Avengers are splitting over a card game,” Tony settled it.

“Mhm, okay. So Monopoly’s out of the question as well then?”

“Uh, yes? Have you not been listening to me?”

Steve and Natasha both answered “no” at the same time, not even looking at Tony, with the casual air only people used to antagonise their teammates could have.

“How about 20 questions?” Steve offered. “We used to play it back in the war. It got progressively more vulgar the drunker everyone got.” Nat laughed and pointed at Tony with the hand that held her now empty jug. “Yeah, you’re right. It was the French names for sex acts that signalled they were officially too gone.”

“Did you win?” Tony asked with a smile.

Steve laughed. “The only time I won was when they got to that. After being mocked for an entire night, I pulled Jackie to the side and asked her to tell me everything she knew.”

“Not show? Also, how did Jackie know any of this?”

Steve got up and refilled their drinks. He rolled his eyes at Tony’s eyebrow wiggle. “Jackie, short for Jacqueline. Also, in her words, raging lesbian,” he explained. “Pretty sure part of the reason she joined the dance company was for the company.” The accompanying laugh seemed to soften Tony’s expression. Or so it seemed in the light.

Steve was lost in his thoughts about Jackie and how she was probably dead by now. She had been only eighteen when he met her, but he learned early on not to hope he would find any of them still alive.

“Hello?”

His head whipped round to look at Natasha. “Sorry, what? I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, no shit. Truth or Dare?” Tony clicked his fingers to rush him.

“Uhm, or?” Steve replied uncertain of what was happening.

Natasha tilted his head so the puppy eyes she was sporting were more effective. Her wavy hair fell on her shoulder, and her lower lip moved forward the tiniest bit.

“No,” Steve warned.

Tony fell on space next to her, and proceeded to tilt his head too, and pout a little, and somehow get his eyes to sparkle with wetness.

“Nooo,” Steve insisted.

“Truth?” Natasha asked with a sad frown.

“Or dare?” Tony continued, his head moving the other way to make them look even more endearing.

Steve couldn’t help it. They were sweet and pathetic, and he loved them dearly. He laughed and nodded his consent while they congratulated each other fervently.

“Okay, okay. Nat, your name comes first. Truth or dare?” he asked.

“Woo! Dare please.”

“I dare you to ask Tony so I don’t have to think of anything right now.”

“Ahh, Captain Sneaky!”

“Yeah, it’s my middle name,” he told them seriously.

“Okay, okay, go Widow. I’m bracing myself, I’m ready for this,” Tony urged her.

She snorted at his exaggerated tone. “Truth or dare?”

“D - no! I know that look, its evil evil undersides, the last time I saw it in conjecture with me you’d made me decaf and I fell asleep in the suit, on Rhodey’s base, they’re still retweeting the photos and calling me the Sleeping Iron Maiden and I really -

“Tony!” Nat called through her sobs of laughter. Steve was in an identical predicament, holding on to his sides at the man’s rant.

“Truth,” he finally said, half squinting in mistrust.

“How long has it been since you got laid?”

“You’re an asshole, that’s what you are. Steve, you know how you always tell me I’m an asshole, no no darling, she’s an asshole. Nay, beyond an asshole -”

“Hurry up, Stark, we’re not getting any younger here. Well, Steve and I will probably be fine, but I’m not so sure about you…”

“Cheeky fucker,” Tony delayed once more.

“Thank you, I try,” she said and got up for a small curtsey. It looked ridiculous and Steve loved it.

“Fine,” Tony sighed and downed his drink. “Technically, it’s been about eleven months, but there was a-third-of-a-thing a couple of months back.” He slumped back in the armchair. “So, yeah. I somehow ended up in this celibacy situation. Not by choice, can I just add,” he finished on a self-deprecating note, with a raised glass full of swirling amber liquid that he proceeded to drink all at once.

Nat got up and hugged his head tightly to her torso. “My poor baby,” she said in a cooing voice, “how do you live like this? I mean, look at the bright side, you could spend half a century with your dick frozen,” she added and pressed a kiss on his head before sitting back down.

“Asshole,” Steve muttered. He got up to get himself a beer just to have something to do.

“Asshole,” Tony agreed, and turned to Natasha. “Go on, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” she answered defiantly.

“Hmm, call Clint repeatedly and ask him stupid questions.”

“It’s Clint, he’ll put up with it.”

“ _Break him_ ,” Tony whispered. “Fucker kicked me in the ribs before we left.”

“Actual five year old, ladies and gentlemen,” Steve announced to the room.

“You were tenting, it was too hard to stop myself. Shit, you know what I mean. Just call him already!”

Steve had his face buried in his hands, shaking with laughter, embarrassment, potential minor crying, and sheer care for the giant idiot that was Tony Stark. Natasha was hitting her thigh repeatedly, trying to tap on the call button between high pitched laugh noises.

“Hello?” Clint’s voice filled the room, groggy and quiet.

“Is your fridge running?”

“I don’t have a fridge. Bye.”

Natasha called him back immediately.

“What?”

“There is a cat in every corner of a room -”

“I have cat treats, they’re all around me. I am the cat lord. Also, fuck you, Nat.”

Natasha called him back once more.

“I’ll set your plants on fire, Tasha.”

“There is no Tasha here, only Nashtenka,” she said in the most exaggerated Russian accent.

“Okay, I’m getting up. What do you want, you Russian cow?”

“Da, Russian! Are you also Russian? Because if you are you should… get a move on,” she finished in her regular accent, laughing hysterically.

There was a chance Clint smashed his phone because every attempt to call him ended up going to voicemail. There was also the loud noise right before the line went dead. Tony had his tablet out in no time.

“Friday, patch me through to wherever Clint Barton is in the tower.”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking. Life is peaceful here on the prairie,” the AI’s voice came back. “How’s your love life, boss? Any luck at all with -”

“Friday, I’ve got another two AIs I can boot instead of you.”

“Not remotely,” came the snide reply.

“Remotely,” Tony emphasised.

“Whatever, they’re not as pretty,” she said and they were through to the kitchen.

The camera’s initial purpose was to figure out what Thor was doing wrong to the toaster and microwave. It turned out it was actually Bruce who fucked up unknowingly, and after the roasting sessions died down, they just kind of let it there. It wasn’t actively monitored by anyone, but in a frat-like house, it almost made sense to be able to find out who finished the milk and didn’t replace it. (It was Bucky. 88% of the time.)

Clint was moving around still tender from his wounds. Judging by the sluggishness of his movements, the pain medication he was on was working beautifully. He opened and closed the freezer several times, increasingly more agitated. He went as far as to check the cupboards and the oven.

“CLINT!”

His shock was visible even through the somewhat grainy feed. He dropped the peanut butter jar he was holding when he jumped at the sound of Natasha’s voice.

“Friday, for fuck’s sake, fucking fuck!”

“Alliteration, nice,” the AI said and Clint flailed uncharacteristically.

“Why are you doing this to me? Can’t you see… _I’m hurting_?” he whined.

“Hey, Clint! Hey, hey Clint!”

“What? What do you want you horrible woman?”

“Where does the General keep his armies?”

“Is it up your ass? Is that what you’re doing over there?”

“Ha ha, no you dickhead. Up his sleevies! Get it? Cause -”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“Pivot!” Steve interrupted.

“A-ha!”

“Take on me?” Nat asked between laughing at Clint and drinking.

“What? No, no, this one I actually know. Bruce showed it to me on youtube.” Tony didn’t look convinced. “Really? I’m like… the epitome of honesty!”

“As if! You’re the epitome of -”

“Hey, Mr. Epitome? What have you and those two degenerates done with the triple chocolate fudge brownie and cherry ice cream?”

Clint was bordering on hysteria, Steve was almost sure. He actually felt bad; as the sober one, he should have reined them in. But they seemed to genuinely have fun. But Clint was distressed. But Tony was radiating with happiness. But it was at someone else’s expense. But. Fuck.

“Stark,” Clint started quietly, now half lying on the kitchen island, staring up into the camera. Steve knew a drama queen when he saw one. “Where. Is. the. Ice cream?”

“Where is the lamb saaauce?” Tony yelled back. “You know, Gordon is actually one of the nicest -”

“Stark!”

Tony opened his mouth, but Steve was quicker. “Okay, enough! All of you. Tony, shut up for a minute. Clint, I’m sorry you’re in pain and had to be annoyed by these two drunks. Now, if you calm down for a second,” he checked the time and continued, “ask Friday to get Bruce for you. He gets a sweet tooth when he’s stressed, so he might have an answer. There’s also the lab freezer, this one always hides stuff in there,” he pointed to Tony.

“True,” the man agreed begrudgingly.

“Sorted? Good. Get well soon.” He tapped Nat’s phone and ended the call. “Not cool, guys. He’s been hurt.”

“He’s on enough painkillers to make him sing. You! Truth or dare?”

“Dare?” Tony answered uncertainly.

“You asking me?”

“No more truths for you, not with that attitude. I will not yield!”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Go on then, ten push-ups -”

“That’s nothing!” he replied, a boisterous grin on his face. “You can do better than that.”

“I wasn’t done. Every two, you do a shot of Amaretto -”

He groaned loudly. “You know I hate the stuff, it’s vile!”

“And,” she continued unfazed, “after each one you do a leap and say something nice about one of us.”

Steve snorted. “That’s elaborate.”

“I spent time undercover in a frat house,” she shrugged. “That enough for you?”

Tony sneered. “Fine. But I won’t have anything nice to say about you,” he warned.

She waved his complaint away and pointed to the empty space in front of them. In the background, people kept falling off a bouncy obstacle course. He waited until the shots of Amaretto were ready, and started his dare. Steve tried not to think of his dream that seemed so long ago, and how beautiful the man looked on his knees in front of him.

One. “Rhodey can beat anyone in the world at Mahjong.” Two. “Jane has the nicest handwriting out of all the scientists, possibly ever.” Shot. “Ugh.” Three. “Bruce’s smile can light up a room.” Four. “You’re the kindest person in the world - I will literally do twenty more pushups if I don’t have to drink this stuff.”

“Nice try,” she said and handed him a shot. “And say honest stuff!”

“Fine! He downed it and gave her a look. “You’re a mean player, but you are also the most lethal person I ever heard of.”

Five. “Thor’s got the most infectious good mood.” Six. “Maria Hill is so gentle she can call cats over and they’ll come.” Shot. Seven. “Bucky covered me with a blanket when he thought I was sleeping and thanked me for fixing his arm and I am so glad we fought for him.”

Steve’s heart fluttered. Eight. “Steve’s little smiles when he thinks no one is watching are sometimes the best thing about my day.” Shot. “I fucking hate this stuff, it gets me so stupid,” he complained and went back down for another pushup. He was slower now, sluggish, and Steve wanted to pick him up and hold him and bury his face in his neck.

Nine. “Steve once hugged me on top of a building and it was better than cookies.” Steve was now clutching the armchair, trying to stay put. Ten. “Steve Rogers smells like summer evenings and I -” He downed his shot, and swatted at Natasha’s shoulder lightly. “Pepper told you, didn’t she?”

“What part? Cause half of it is so obvious I could be blind and still see that -”

“The Amaretto!”

“Ah, I spied on you for months, remember? I got you drunk and stupid on the stuff before. But yeah, Pepper helped.”

Tony sighed. “I really fucking hope this room isn’t bugged or we’ll be in for a viral surprise tomorrow.”

Natasha leaned in to look the man in the eyes. “Remember that bit in the second Harry Potter book? His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad…”

Steve tried really hard. He really did. But he couldn’t hold it in, so when he finally laughed it was loud and wild and he had to close his eyes and rest his head on the top of the armchair and just let it happen. Because it was the only way to release the ball of emotions that was in his chest, and any other way would have been not only mortifying, but also pretty shitty considering how drunk Tony was. Also considering that what he wanted to do was kneel in front of him, kiss him, and run his hands through his stupid messy hair.

When he finally opened his eyes, Tony had a peculiar look on his face, and Natasha sported a devious expression. Oh-oh.

“I believe you’ll find out,” she started, playing with a knife that had definitely not been there thirty seconds before, “that you have been laughing at our antics and failed to participate. Now that isn’t very nice, is it?”

If Steve was a tiny bit honest - and he was! - her headmistress voice was fairly hot. Objectively, like how he always admitted she was a stunning woman with an even better penchant for caring about his sorry ass. “Uh, no?” he answered.

“That’s right, it isn’t. So, what will it be, Captain? Truth or dare?”

Decisions were normally pretty simple for Steve. You know, get into a fight or not? Fly a plane into a frozen sea or not? That sort of thing. This was a tad more difficult. Either way, there was definite potential for humiliation and / or extensive over thinking for weeks.

“Dare,” he sighed.

“We’ll start you off easy - should be pretty simple. All you have to do is take that monstrosity of a shirt off. And maybe burn it. And when we get home tell Sam he is a bitter disappointment.”

Steve scoffed. “Bordering on harassment, you know. This objectifying needs to stop.”

“We’re among friends, it’s not like I’m daring you to take photos half naked squeezing a wet sponge over your chest.”

Tony laughed. “Could you, though?”

“How is this my life? How am I part of a team that wants to ogle me?”

“Cause we’re not blind? I could see with my hands, you know?” Natasha wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“Actual harassment,” Steve repeated and took his top off, folded it, and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Happy?”

“Mhm, this one’s drunk and I’m greedy so I’ll ask again: truth or dare?” Tony scoffed but stayed silent and waved her on.

“Dare,” Steve replied.

“Excellent,” she said, and he immediately regretted it.

“Bench press that armchair for ten minutes.” She pointed to Tony. Okay, okay, this was not so bad. The man moved to get up, and Nat shook her head. “No, you stay on it, sunshine.”

Tony snorted. “All those undercover missions as dominatrix really fucked with you, Natasha.”

“Literally,” she confirmed.

“What is it with you and exhibits of force? First the pushups, now this.”

She shrugged. “I like watching beautiful things. And frat house, told you. Now, hurry up before he falls asleep and I die of old age.”

The entire process was awkward. He got on the floor next to the chair and contemplated the easier way to proceed. Full-on was the best option he could come up with, so he reached under the piece of furniture and lifted it above his torso. For a minute, everything was fine, but soon he felt Tony shifting and the next thing he knew, he was staring at the man’s face. As far as Steve could tell, Tony was kneeling on the chair, hanging over the back, watching him benchpress the massive thing.

Despite his muscles working at it, it wasn’t even remotely a struggle, but the entire thing seemed out of this world. Tony’s expression was unreadable. Steve’s traitorous mind, hopeful despite his best intentions, interpreted it as reverence, perhaps awe, perhaps a tiny bit of fondness. He could see Natasha taking photos, the loudness of the shouted Russian filled the room, but despite everything, seeing Tony above him, moving up and down at Steve’s pace brought to mind filthy things. Filthy, dirty porn he’d watched in the middle of the night, trying to familiarise himself with the current culture. Porn with dark haired men on top, bouncing slowly on a bare dick.

When his dare time was over he deposited the chair back where it belonged and went to pick up his shirt. Tony had a peaceful smile on his face, and Natasha had to wait for her yawn to end before speaking.

“Can we count on you to wake us up, Stevie?”

She must have been drunk enough to call him that, but it was endearing so he didn’t say anything. “Yeah, sure,” he assured them. “Come on, you silly drunks.”

He walked Natasha to her door and waited until she was in bed before turning her light off. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a good man Steven Rogers. You’re gonna make… someone really happy one day.”

He chuckled. “Go to bed, Nat.”

“Okay,” she said, and he could hear her plop over to the other side.

Back in the drinking den, the tv was still on, showing something that looked exceptionally dramatic judging by the number of slaps that happened in the span of a minute while he watched. It must have been one of those soap operas that Darcy told him about. He’d watched a couple of episodes with her one night when she couldn’t sleep. It was in Spanish, and while he wasn’t fluent, he understood enough to make him want to both watch some more and go to bed at the same time.

Tony was curled up in the armchair, one knee up to his chest as much as possible in the smallish seat. He was trying to reach a throw with his other leg, toes stretched inside the sock he still had on.

“You’ll regret sleeping here,” Steve said gently.

“I don’t like hotel rooms, they’re too clinical. Smell like I don’t have a home,” he slurred.

Steve sighed. It was a familiar feeling for him too. “At least get on the sofa.”

“Or!” he started, “or, I could come sleep in your bed.”

Steve’s face seemed to go numb for a second. “I doubt we’ll both fit, Tony. We’re not exactly small built,” he laughed.

“True.” He seemed to deliberate for a minute. “Then I’ll stay up and watch the tv. I’m not tired anyway.”

“Okay, why don’t you have my bed and I’ll go sleep in your room?”

“Mhm.” He scratched his beard. “Okay!”

The more they spent stuck in this situation, the more time they would be going without sleep, the less time Tony would have to sober up, and the more Steve wanted to kiss him senselessly. So he pulled the man up and walked him to bed, tucked him in, and said good night.

“You know, Steve,” he started.

Good God, if Tony had inherited Howard’s mannerisms that made him a chatty drunk sometimes, Steve would actually cry. “What’s that?”

“Sometimes I’m selfish and grateful you were frozen. Like, yeah I know it was really shitty for you, but if you hadn’t I probably wouldn’t have met you and I think,” he paused to yawn, “that I’d have missed you a lot.”

There were logic problems there, but it wasn’t worth debating them, so Steve took the statement as it was, and leaned in to pull the duvet tighter around Tony. “Me too,” was all he said, ambiguous as it was.

Back in Tony’s room, the sheets somehow smelled like him, and Steve was surprised to discover he didn’t feel like he was missing a home after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The country remains unnamed on purpose, partly because I don't want to shift focus to an existing country, and also because I lack the patience to invent a brand new country in Eastern Europe. But! Fun fact: I am Eastern European, every bit of specific description is very much rooted in things that actually exist. The fish is real.
> 
> Drop me a line and let me know how you found it. Remember, if you don't have anything nice to say, make sure it's at least constructive. If it can't be constructive, shove it up your arse. Thanks for reading, much love xx
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr!
> 
> (Will I ever write short notes?)


	2. The Space Bar!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve had joined the army because he hated bullies. And these people were legal bullies, corrupt and unfair. So Steve had to say something. Even if it meant facing criticism. Even if it meant having a potential psychotic break on international television. Even if it meant embarrassing himself in front of the world and his crush. Even if it meant almost starting an international incident. Or having nightmares for a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got nothing, not really. It took me over a year to get this out, not even because I've had writer's block or something, I'm just shit tbh. Like, my depression makes me not write so I don't and I just put it off every day and next thing I know it's October 2018 and I've barely just finished the second half of this. If you're here for the first time, giving this a go or returning after you'd read the other parts, honestly thank you from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> I reiterate what I said in the previous chapter's notes: this is ridiculous even by my standards, it's meant to be funny and witty and it's probably just ooc. Please mind the fact that this is politics-heavy, as in mentions of the political regime of this unspecified country, mentions of Fox News and Breitbart, subtle anti-far-right sentiments. Additionally, this is a hot mess of a chapter, sorry y'all. Mentions of anxiety and panic - if you've read the other parts of this series you know Steve isn't doing great with that. (More anxiety and PTSD-related angst in the next installment.) Also, group chat brought back by popular demand – literally not one person asked for it but it’s cooler to put it this way woo. 
> 
> Endless thanks to Joeybelle, who this entire series is dedicated to (even if I can't remember why I started writing it and Stony isn't exactly her otp.) I'm still alive because you loved me and continue to do so; thank you for putting up with me and pushing me to write. iubmultben 
> 
> Also, this is not Yank-wanked (how fucking funny is this term, oh my god) - I forget to spell words the American way like 90% of the time, so excuse words that look odd.
> 
> Very unbeta-ed. Unbetaed? Unbeta'ed? Very much still awkward.

Steve woke up unexpectedly well rested considering the few hours of sleep he had. He had coffee ready before he knocked on Natasha’s door. Gently. He was sure she could kill him through the wood.

“No,” came the muffled reply.

“Oh, yes,” Steve insisted. “I dare you.”

“Nooo,” she said again.

“Tasha, you have to, I made coffee, come on. Don’t make me put on the serious voice,” he warned only half-joking.

There was a long pause. Then he heard movement, then the door opened slowly and her eye made an appearance in the freshly created space. “Okay, but I hate it.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve agreed, and let her get ready.

He’d planned for this, so when he shook Tony awake he ducked, careful not to spill coffee all over the bed.

“It’s me!”

“Oh, hi Me. I’m sleeping now, bye bye.”

Tony made to escape, but Steve was quicker and pulled him by the shoulder towards the edge of the bed. “Would you look at that, you’re actually awake right now and you’re about to get up, sort yourself out and come face the crowd of corrupt dicks we’re about to scare into being less corrupt.”

“Sure. Or I could stay here and watch tv.”

“In this language?”

“I’ll sort it out. Lemme be!”

Steve sighed. “Incoming,” he warned. With a fluid motion, he lifted Tony over his shoulder and carried him out in the kitchen. Unusual, but the close proximity was soothing, and Steve was a glutton for it; and for not being able to have more than stolen touches, it seemed.

“Hey, remember our talk about a working HR? This is one of those things that can easily be added to –”

“Just shut up,” Steve said and put him down in the kitchen. Natasha’s eyebrow shot up. “I’m tired, cranky, and I want to be home where I can watch Blue Planet and eat Doritos.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she said and stifled a yawn.

“Coffee? Please? Take pity on a poor man whose head is bursting with self inflicted pain.”

Steve brought the mug from his bedroom, where Tony spent the night definitely not debating ways of kissing Steve’s collarbone. Steve could definitely not say the same. “There you go. I’m taking a shower, getting dressed, and if you know what’s good for you, you better be in the lobby in thirty minutes.”

“Bossy! You should order us around more often, Cap,” Tony offered.

“I am literally two stupid sentences away from flying back to New York and hiding in Brooklyn for the foreseeable future.”

Natasha gasped. “Are you insane? We’d kill each other! We actually will.”

“Oh, no,” Steve said, as sarcastically as he could, and walked back to his room.

He pointedly ignored the bed where Tony slept, or the way the pillow had a slight indentation where the man’s head was. Steve was too gone, he knew he’d thought it before, but this new day brought a new strategy. Rather than ignoring it until it went away – because it clearly wouldn’t go away, maybe (tragically) ever –, he would think it as often as possible until it became so common it wouldn’t be as important. Never out loud though, that made it not only real, but dangerous. Everything was bugged and Tony was everywhere. Apparently paranoia was also a symptom of being horrendously in love with one’s teammate. How amazing.

The lobby was busy and he was painfully aware of everyone staring at him. His tie was slightly too tight, and while it would normally bother him, right now it kept him focused. He welcomed the change over the buzzing of the same thoughts over and over again. To further focus on something else, he arranged the car for the drive to the whatever gathering they were to attend – Steve ignored that part of the conversation with surprising ease. In hindsight, it wasn’t typical of him to not know parameters to a mission, regardless of its nature, but this entire thing was different than their usual work.

Among the sound of high heels tapping on the marble floors, he knew Natasha’s as soon as she walked in. It was either a deep knowledge of who she was, the way she carried herself, the way she walked and the pressure she used in her steps, or he was officially insane and should just be locked away with Netflix and Youtube.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Natasha transform herself. Sometimes the change was instantaneous, like when something irked her to the point where her face hardened, other times it was studious, like when she would go deep undercover and needed to actually become someone else. But this right now was a casual-to-business mood that was unprecedented. Not at this speed, and not so completely done. She wore perfectly tailored clothes, and her hair and makeup were flawless as far as he could tell – no dark circles and a subtle glow. Youtube was a wonderful land of tutorials and he was proudly knowledgeable in the steps needed to achieve various styles of makeup. Also, he would not actually be able to explain why he knew this if asked. But Natasha was perfect, poised and ready to take on the world, and the ridiculous sentimental side of Steve shook with contentedness.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re just really really great, that’s all,” he replied.

“Aww, Steve! What about me?”

“Didn’t even see you there, I was a bit focused on Tasha,” Steve threw at him.

“Actually really hurt, not gonna lie.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. You’re alright, Stark.”

“Oh, good. I was worried your heartfelt compliments were over – so glad to see that’s not the case. So glad I’m alright, I was actually up all night trying to figure out how you see me.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, maybe not all night, but I devoted a solid eight minutes before I passed out.”

Natasha touched his cheek in a loving gesture and walked out, urging them to follow her. Steve did and a couple of second later he heard Tony huff and puff.

“Really? Not even acknowledging my struggles? Bah, and these people worship you!”

Unfortunately, he was not wrong. Steve would have chosen a different word, but all in all, that was the closest term for the chaos that was outside. The mass of people was downright erratic, waving flags and to Steve’s utter horror, children. Fair enough, there were only a few and they seemed to be quite secure, but the sentiment baffled him. Tony waved, large smile on his face, sunglasses up to hide the dark circles and potential disdain. Natasha smiled at the little girls wearing red wigs, and he followed their cue, waving and smiling at the kids who wore homemade cardboard masks with his face dressed as Captain America.

It was disconcerting, how much these people trusted and idolized them. But at the same time, Steve’s resolve to be the best person he could was reinforced. This was beyond the American Dream, the way people back home saw them, the way they were liked there. To the people of this country, they were a – and he hated to be thought of that way – beacon of hope for better times. All he could do was make them proud. So he smiled wider on his way to the car, stopped to sign a baseball and some merchandise, and promised he’d see them all later before getting in and being driven away.

They were silent for the drive, each caught in their own thoughts. Steve’s phone went off, then Tasha’s, then Tony’s, and they all groaned at what this meant. 

> Clint: _fuck you guys_
> 
> Bucky: _What?_
> 
> Clint: _not you the three assholpes_
> 
> Bruce: _You need to either start spelling better or enable autocorrect_
> 
> Clint: _and have it say duck you guys_
> 
> Clint: _like Steve_
> 
> Clint: _Steve is the least assjoley of them all_
> 
> Bucky: _Please go back to bed, this is annoying_

 Natasha opened the window slightly. “We could… throw our phones, stay here, overthrow  the government, jail all the corrupt politicians. They already like us, Steve wouldn’t let us get too mental, the tv shows aren’t _that_ bad… We could start our own country –”

“With blackjack and hookers!”

“Is that a reference?”

“Isn’t everything? So?”

Tony sighed. “As much as I hate to be the voice of reason – and I hate it a lot – they’ll burn down New Jersey without us there.”

Steve frowned. “Why New Jersey?”

“Cause they’re too dumb to burn down New York,” he deadpanned. “Let’s face it, Bruce and Darcy would elope if they haven’t already, Bucky would go apeshit and start aggressively dancing on the street for some change, and the others I can’t even begin to explain.”

Natasha sighed. “Fuck’s sake, I hate when you’re right.”

“Not to mention they would end up in a war, probably against us, and I’m too old for this shit, not nearly as old as Steve, who is also too sentimental for this shit, and you’d either kill them all eventually or leave on holiday cause you’re bored.”

“I already said you’re right!” she said in an exasperated voice. “I hope we get to shoot something today.”

There was longing in her voice that didn’t bode well for Steve. “Let’s not start another international incident if we can help it, shall we? Nice and easy, smile and wave, boys.”

“When have you even seen _Madagascar?_ ” she asked outraged.

“What? I’ve never been to Madagascar, we weren’t deployed there and you know that seeing how you memorised my file.”

“No, _Madagascar!_ ”

“That’s what I said, I’ve never been to –”

“Okay, is he doing it on purpose?” she asked Tony.

The man shrugged. “Told you. Now, to sort this out.”  

> Tony: _Cling I’m sorry, i was drunk-ish and that was mean but also it’s basically Natasha’s fault_
> 
> Natasha: _ahahahaha Cling_
> 
> Tony: _shit, I meant Clit_
> 
> Tony: _no, duck my autocorrect_
> 
> Tony: _F U C K_
> 
> Tony: _CLINT******_
> 
> Tony: _I’m sorry omg_
> 
> Darcy: _I’m printing this and framing it for Christmas_
> 
> Bruce: _You’re not allowed eggnog anymore_
> 
> Darcy: _Christmas is months away, you can’t make the rules now_
> 
> Bruce: _You’re right, I made this rule last Christmas_
> 
> Darcy: _I GAVE YOU MY HEART_
> 
> Darcy: _OH MY GOD BRUCE_
> 
> Bruce: _Darcy no_
> 
> Darcy: _DARCY YES THIS IS OUR SONG NOW_
> 
> Steve: _Muting you all, if it’s URGENT call us. See, this is how you use caps lock_
> 
> Steve: _bunch of dicks_
> 
> Tony: _Bunch* you pretentious asshole_
> 
> Steve: _Really?_
> 
> Steve sent a photo.
> 
> Steve sent a photo.
> 
> Steve sent a photo.
> 
> Bucky: _omg_

“Was that really necessary?”

Steve grinned. “Yeah, yeah it was. Also, maybe I wanted to stay here and be a benevolent ruler with my amazing-slash-sometimes-horrible-yet-somehow-still-amazing friends.”

Tony seemed to reconsider. “No, it’s too easy.” He looked around, then down at his phone. ”You know, these are really not bad photos of me. I’ve seen worse.”

“Yeah, we all have,” Natasha said. “Remember the one where they tried to get your bare ass but somehow there’s a hint of ballsack? Never managed to quite forget that.”

Tony shuddered. “That was a horrible angle for my ballsack. Still trying to make the photo disappear, but there’s this idiot who keeps uploading it.”

Natasha smirked. “You could make it go away completely if you wanted. And I doubt the person doing it is an idiot,” she added.

Tony’s eyes narrowed. He looked towards Steve who was trying to keep the most impassive face of his life despite the words ‘hint of ballsack’ (god damn it, Steve, ballsacks really?) and ‘naked ass’, then back at Natasha. “No,” he started slowly. “I imagine they’re not. In fact, I think they’re quite amazing. A force of nature. A work of art. Intelligent. Beautiful. Nay, stunning. Gorgeous. So brilliant at what they do. Genuinely an astonishing person.”

“Yeah, that’s closer to the truth, I reckon,” she said and Steve wanted to understand what was happening but he also wanted to find this photo and maybe make it his wallpaper.

“So no to overthrowing the government?” he finally asked, trying to stay with the conversation.

“Nah, we only fuck up political stability on Tuesdays,” Tony replied.

“Damn, was so looking forward to passing laws that say if you’re annoying you have to be silent for three days before you’re allowed to speak again,” he said, pointedly looking at Tony.

“I know absolutely no one who would suffer from that more than you. The way you get on those self-righteous lectures of yours. Honestly, three days might not be enough punishment. Why not a week? Is there coffee? Did you pack coffee for the road? Sighing does not construe effective communication.”

“Please,” Steve said weakly.

“Also your bed smelled like you, I don’t understand how that’s possible,” Tony continued absentmindedly. “God, I hate Amaretto, I feel like something crawled in my throat and died there.”

There was silence for a while. As a collective rule, people close to Tony knew to either not engage him when he was ranting, or engage him enough to a) tire him out (unlikely) or b) bore him until he changed subjects and eventually wandered off. The latter seemed to be the case, especially as he seemed to focus on reading something.

They were dropped off in front of what could easily pass as a sumptuous building of sorts, but to Steve’s artist eye looked at least as garrish as the room back at the hotel. Steel beams and glossy windows stood out in the overwhelming surrounding architecture – a collection of fluid lines and gargoyles, with high windows and wooden frames, with old school roofs and rich gardens. Steve was used to taking in his surroundings for tactical purposes, but at that moment it seemed like a good distraction. They were to be welcomed by some committee of mostly men, suits not fitted properly – and Steve was not one to judge, the ill-fitting suits weren’t the problem. But the people wearing them, strangled by their crooked ties and red in the face as if they had been running up and down trying to seem hard-working. Steve hated it.

Many more handshakes later, they were finally led to a ballroom of sorts, equipped with large round tables full of different sized plates and at least three forks. Steve almost sneered. He stole a glance sideways to both Natasha and Tony, both looking much more at ease within that set-up. He tried his best to mimic them.

The room felt stuffy even though it was cooled down to what Steve knew was a pleasant temperature for non-serum-fucked people. It still felt like it would soon envelop him and replace he air in his lungs. Nat touched his shoulder on the way to her seat, on the other side of Tony. Once she sat, they joined her and Steve smiled politely at the people sharing their table. They introduced themselves (potentially again) and he tried for his best diplomatic face. It seemed to have worked because they all turned to the podium where someone coughed a little to get their attention.

The prime-minister started talking then, and they dimmed the lights to focus on him while servers brought out appetisers which made absolutely no sense because they seemed to be struggling in the half-darkness. The speech was passionate enough to captivate and full of crap enough to make Steve’s upper lip tremble. On his left, Tony seemed engrossed – he could have been asleep, it was a talent. Natasha kept her smile on as she picked at some cold cuts and Steve wished he could go for a run shirtless. In the rain. While the Bee Gees wailed in his earbuds.

More speeches as they were brought the first dish. He was mature enough to accept the food was good, but he was wondering how a country with _this_ GDP could consciously feed them _this_ food while statistically six out of ten children went to bed hungry. Or how with the highest illiteracy level in history, they had the distinctive guts to put on a show.

Tony leaned in and they both took the cue and came closer. “Did you know that ‘Natasha’ spelled backwards is ‘ah, satan’?”

Steve chuckled. “Makes sense,” he said quietly. Nat hummed in agreement. “In what universe is this relevant now? How do you even come to this thought.”

Tony scoffed. “You know when you have sixty tabs opened and three of them are singing and one of them is a pop-up telling you that you’ve won –"

“Adblock,” Steve offered.

“What? Yes. What?” Tony paused briefly. “Listen Captain Technology, who told you about Adblock in the first place?”

“Bruce.”

“Well – well, okay, but the point was that my brain is like that but like, always.” There was another pause. “And also, it’s like when you go looking for a particular bit of information and the next thing you know it’s five hours later and you’re reading about hippos.”

Steve sighed. “I wish it was five hours later and I was reading about hippos.”

“What, you think this will only take five hours?”

Steve was quiet, because he knew that it would take longer. And on top of that and his lack of sleep and general lack of desire to be there he had to add deeply unsettling feelings of entitlement. Because Steve was aware of how this looked. Three white people, each with various degrees of success to showcase in their respective resumes. Yes, each fucked in the head in ways, but ultimately three white Americans who looked like they were on a saviour complex mission to bring Freedom to some unfortunate souls. Steve had never wanted anything more than to not be seen as such. He kept quiet, because Natasha would probably be understanding but eventually cutthroat in her reasoning that this was advisable over a potential power vacuum, while Tony would be mocking and defensive due to his unfortunate coping mechanisms. And Steve was mature enough that he could agree he shared some of said coping mechanisms.

Politics was dirty, and Steve just wanted to be helpful, not to rule and not to plunder a country’s heritage. Neither did he want to hijack the locals’ efforts and use them towards his own goals. Even if Steve’s goals were simple, none of the political bullshit he was thrown in. While he understood their necessity, he was also conflicted about sending the wrong message. Restless, if he had to pick a word for his current mood.

There was a break in the speeches, allowing for small talk and mingling. Steve firmly refused to get up and introduce himself to opportunistic assholes. He was polite when they approached him, shaking their hands and allowing their boastful one-sided conversations. If anything, out of sheer politeness alone. The prime-minister sat down in the recently vacated chair next to Steve.

“Captain America!” he exclaimed as he sat down heavily in the chair.

Steve had a flash memory of reading Animal Farm in his SHIELD issued bed in the middle of the night. He nodded minutely. “Captain Rogers, if you’re technical,” he offered with a forced smile.

The prime-minister shook his head. “Captain Rogers doesn’t sound nearly as impressive as Captain America,” he countered.

Tony snorted and Steve kneed blindly towards his general direction to keep him in check. “Impressive doesn’t feed people, sir,” Steve offered.

“True, true,” the man agreed hurriedly, then retrieved some papers from his inner pocket. He seemed hesitant. “I was – that is, we were hoping you could get up and deliver a speech to consolidate our common efforts.” The eloquence was mostly there, delivered with a hint of an accent. “To cement our relationship since we have the same goals, no?” he asked, the Slavic lilt harsher on that last word.

Steve was even more distrustful. He wasn’t certain where he had the brain power to analyse the man’s speech patterns – perhaps it was ingrained in his tactical views on things. Perhaps it was the obsessive side of his brain folding in on itself. He felt dizzy trying to process the implications of accents laid hard to convey the benign qualities of the conversation. “I don’t know if that would be good,” he tried, thinking about how it would look.

Natasha chimed in with a well timed small cough. She leaned on her elbows, capturing the prime-minister's attention. “I wonder if perhaps Mr. Stark might be a better choice,” she offered evenly.

The large man’s body shook in time with his vigorous head shake before she finished. “No, no,” he said, sans accent and as convincing as he could. “Miss Romanova, as beautiful and –”

“Deadly,” she added over him. “ _And it’s Romanoff,_ ” she said in Russian. “Steve?”

He understood the name, understood enough of the exchange to end it there. He caught Tony’s eye, but Tony looked on serenely, uncharacteristically quiet. It was disconcerting to say the least. Steve raised an eyebrow, Tony shook his head millimetrically and that was that. “Very well,” he conceded. “I will deliver the speech.”

The man left them then, back to his table of predominantly men. Steve took note of their ties again, the way their chins sprawled over the lazy knots. Still dazed by his wordless exchange with Tony, he made sure his tie sat right. If he fiddled with it as he skimmed the speech, well then it would just have to be seen as a sign of nervousness and he would be chastised by Natasha and potentially Maria Hill later. It was not common knowledge that Hill whipped them all over the place about their mannerisms, but Steve was willing to risk it. The more he read the more he needed some sort of outlet.

He was unaware of the tight fist he had formed on the table or the fact it was trembling. It wasn’t until something tapped at it repeatedly that he snapped back to look at what was happening. Natasha was scrolling furiously on her phone, her face betraying nothing.

“Code green?” she asked with a small smile.

“I wish,” Steve answered tightly. The tapping returned and he finally glanced downwards towards his hand. He forced it to unclench and looked up at Tony. “Is that mine?”

He shrugged. “It was on the bedside table, I fidget so I took it.” He offered the pencil to Steve who took it gratefully.

“No! You?” Steve said with mock surprise in his voice. He was willing himself to be calm.

“Have you met me?” Tony asked knowingly.

“No, where have you been all my life?” Steve replied and just like that, he was able to breathe properly again. It should have been worrying how much Tony’s relaxed expression affected him, but right then and there Steve found other things that were troublesome.

They played some music as they served yet more food that Steve ignored with a heavy consciousness. He had half a thought to ask them to take all the extra food to the people celebrating outside. The speeches were televised and in between they were shown footage of the crowds. He bit his tongue and sipped his tea.

An aide came by all flustered and informed him he was going to wrap up the event with his speech. His. As if he hadn’t just been given the entire fucking thing to say on stage like a puppet. But that was a road best not taken in public, in a foreign land, without his shield and in a confined space. The anger at being used wasn’t new, but it was best left for sleepless nights and solitary overthinking.

A woman in the cabinet took the stage, followed by another. They boastfully lauded the success of their government, the steps taken to ensure this and that and he distinctly heard Tony grind his teeth next to him. He listened enough to fuel his rage and know his enemies, so to say, but his attention was solely on his teammates. While they both seemed supremely calm and with the programme, their tiny tells stood out to Steve, who had put his life in their hands time and again.

He was up next, once the loud applause calmed down and he was introduced and subsequently invited to take the stage. He had to act quickly. He leaned forward to get the others’ attention. “Natasha, truth or dare?” he whispered.

“Truth,” she said after a very short pause.

“Was it _that bad?_ ” he asked urgently.

Tony looked back and forth at them trying to understand. “What are you on about?”

“I never said that,” Natasha replied in a perfect rendition of their conversation a long time ago.

“What?” Tony asked again and in the background Steve could hear random facts about his life.

“The kiss, Natasha was it bad?” he whisper shouted over the applause around them. Tony promptly spat his drink in what would later be dubbed the kerfuffle of the trip. The cameras were on Steve, because of course they were and Tony was next to Steve because of course he was. So when he accidentally bathed their side of the table in a surprised doubletake, Steve knew everyone back home went apeshit. He got up, smiling benevolently at Tony who was looking up in horrified surprise at him.

“What kiss?” he asked Natasha, then Steve and tried to hurry everything along as he was expected on stage.

Natasha was laughing, and even if it was severely unorthodox, at least he got them to unwind a bit. Which was good, considering he was either going to cause an international incident (even if it wasn’t a Tuesday, rebellion!), or become some sort of image for standing up to what was right. Either way, it was going to have some sort of consequence. As Peter often said, the memes were going to be lit. Maybe. Shit. As he walked to the podium he heard Natasha shout “No, Cap, it was stellar!” and he smiled once more.

Up on the stage he waved at the attendees cheering for him. He hated them. Outside, the people could probably have a spontaneous election and choose twenty people who would be more worthy of leading their country than the conglomerate of corruption sitting down in front of him. The big lights were on him now and he felt his stomach drop. What the fuck was he even thinking ever leaving Brooklyn? He cleared his throat.

“Hi, you might know me?” he opened in a fake-uncertain voice. There were laughs around the room. He could feel his phone go off in his pocket and unless they’ve made the fiftieth group chat he hadn’t had a chance to mute yet, this was a private message. He could imagine Bucky’s panicked “steve no” and smiled despite himself. Out of all the ways to get himself noticed by his crush, addressing an entire fucking nation was the worst one. And fair, this wasn’t _why_ he was doing it, but it was still an opportunity. Steve compartmentalised this new way he found to get Tony to never like him back for later.

He’d arranged his papers as the crowd settled and was now ready to go. “I am Captain America.” He paused and unclenched his jaw. “My name is Captain Steve Rogers, I am a founding member of the Avengers. Some may know me as The First Avenger – in all my time, extended as it was, I have fought for the freedom of people from oppression and today I am here to celebrate, along with my fellow Avengers the triumph of democracy in this beautiful country.”

He paused. He couldn’t remember where in the speech he had planned to deflect this farce and rejoin his personal efforts towards a better world. He shrugged to himself, deciding this was a good a time as any. He folded the papers and put them back in his pocket.

“Yeah, no,” he said and took a drink from the water bottle they provided. His phone was going mental. “Let’s be real here for a second, shall we?” The prime-minister had gone comically red, side-lit as he was. Steve imagined steam coming out of his ears. He was happy to say that with the distinct exception of Tony Stark, he imagined no one else naked. “I was handed this speech this very day by the very prime-minister sitting right here. And the thing is, if this was in any way, shape, or form a correct depiction of why we are here and what has been done so far, I would not have the smallest of problems in reading it. As it happens, I’m always honest. It’s a character flaw, I’m told. They also called me ‘The Star Spangled Man with a Plan’ so I wouldn’t take what they say to heart. Especially since this was horrendously unplanned.”

Some laughter. Good. Steve soldiered on, as he was prone to do. “We’ve not come here to be saviours for the poorer or gods for the underdeveloped as we were sold to the public. We’re here because our job is to make sure people are safe. I can forward you my resume if you need it.”

He paused because tongue-in-cheek was one thing and snarky as fuck was something else. His knees were also weak and he wondered once more what exactly the fuck he was doing. He was not a performer, he was not a performer. They strapped him in a suit and had him dancing on shaky stages. But these people deserved better so he inhaled, exhaled, and went on. He wasn’t a speechwriter, but he was passionate and free. “We have been invited to partake in the celebration of development, of responsible economic growth, of investing in the future, of… of… – hold on.” He took the paper out and searched for the paragraph he needed. “Ah, there it is! Of ‘extirpating the evil of cruel intentions’ and whatnot. Stellar speech, but I don’t warp the truth on stages anymore, prime-minister.”

He paused for another drink and then continued before he could think about it too much. “The Maria Stark Foundation, closely affiliated to the Avengers. Founded by one of our core members himself to ensure justice and help for the less fortunate. On a tangent – this is what happens when you don’t prewrite and rehearse these things. So, on a tangent, I recently learned about the ‘white saviour narrative’ in movies. General Ross, Sir, when you’re backing up your next candidate don’t try to use this to win votes.” There was a sharp whistle, most likely from Tony. “We’re not here as saviours, and we’re definitely not here to showcase how amazing we are as white American people. I’ll forward you my list of fu – times I messed up. Ah, this is definitely going on Tumblr. Too long didn’t read – I’m full of this young people vernacular these days, you see – we came here to create a bond between a recovering budding nation and the Western world, as flawed as it may be. And now that we got here things aren’t quite as we were told.”

An official seemed to make a move to escort him off stage but Steve was too deep. So he glared at him and went on. “The Maria Stark Foundation had partnered up with the government and supposedly non-politically backed NGOs to ensure the reduction in domestic violence, as well as to ensure safe spaces for victims. Levels of illiteracy. Percentage of teenage mothers. I was brought up Catholic but I will always stand by the separation of church and state. This grand meal we were offered – statistically how many children go to bed hungry? This is not about back home being better, this is about right here right now being bad. The entire world stood by you and supported a smooth transition from the old regime to a new, humane one. You have been shepherded as gently as possible to avoid a vacuum power and help rebuild. You have done none of the things you promised. This ends now.”

There were murmurs around the room. Steve was actually afraid he’d fucked up beyond belief. Should have stayed in bed, soldier boy. “Please. I am not here – _we_ are not here to do politics. We stay away from that due to the nature of our jobs. We don’t run for congress and we’re not here to toss around your democracy. Have you seen my costume? I’m all for democracy. But not corruption. Not even sanctions that international forums may impose – these would only affect your people. Keep your promises and neither our support nor our friendship will be retracted. In hindsight, asking me to do this was a poorly calculated decision. Really, a statue?” he asked the prime-minister directly, leaning towards the podium involuntarily and catching himself when he realised he was doing it.  

There were voices rising up again and he moved his hands to signal them to settle. “These are my views. While I trust my teammates with my life, I cannot expect them to back my views up completely. But I am distraught and saddened by the state of affairs we were met with. I am distraught by this spectacle, by bringing a new tv in our accommodation to make us believe things are better. This _propaganda_ ,” he spat the word, “I will not stand behind this propaganda. Your people protest and you expect us to believe everything is going well. To pose for photos and shake hands and be on our merry way? Unacceptable. Thank you.”

He moved away from the podium and for a couple of seconds there was silence. Applause erupted from the general direction of their table. He remembered something then and moved back. The noise stopped and he cleared his throat. “Please! I meant backing up corruption and photos with officials. The free people of this country deserve our appreciation and time. Thank you!”

The applause started again and this time when the whistling came, Steve saw Tony doing it so there was no doubt. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding. In the brief seconds he walked off stage towards the prime-minister he couldn’t help but think of all the ways he’d fucked up. The man was waiting for him, angry vein pulsating in his temple, sweaty and face tight with rage. Steve slapped the speech on his puffed chest and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not a dancing monkey anymore, prime-minister. You picked the wrong person.” He walked back to their table and sat down, stiff and afraid. Next to him, both Tony and Natasha were grinning. His phone was going wild again in his pocket.

“So?” he asked timidly.

“Aunt Peggy would have kissed you,” Tony said laughing. “I could kiss you!” Steve’s knees almost buckled. “Pepper texted and said it’s being contained, she’s issuing press releases right, left, and center.”

“Clint sent approximately eight hundred emojis on everything including secure SHIELD communication channels. General Ross’s personal assistant texted and said he broke a desk so, well done.”

Steve sighed. “I fucked up,” he whispered to Natasha when she took the chair next to him.

“No, Steve, you were honest. Honesty is good,” she reassured.

“I mean, of course a white lie every now and then –”

“Tony.”

“Right, right. Cap, you didn’t fuck up. The team, Nat and me, we’re all in this with you. These assholes need to know they can’t do this to their own people.”

Steve didn’t even know what ‘this’ was. He wasn’t running for office, he was just mad. “The media?” he asked in the same small voice.

“As expected,” Natasha replied. “Fox is foaming at the mouth, Breitbart threatened to have you arrested and or court martialed under some unknown authority they dreamt up in the past eight minutes,” she informed him with an eye roll.

“What happened to not overthrowing the government and all that?” Tony asked with a grin.

“I didn’t mean to –” he started, not knowing where to go with it. Around him, the noise had switched to conversations and movement. It was dizzying.

The cameras were on so he kept a neutral face, despite the internal meltdown. Tony’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Steve, stay with us, okay?”

“Mhm,” he managed and inhaled as deeply as possible without betraying a panic attack.

On the stage, a voice called for attention. The prime-minister was far from being calm but he was restraining himself as much as he could. “After an… enlightening speech, I invite you all up for the official photo. We will then continue with our planned schedule that includes a visit to the National Carnival, the most authentic experience our proud country has to offer. Thank you!”

Steve was on auto-pilot. He dreaded checking his phone. Nat told him Darcy and Clint were working on a tumblr dedicated to his speech. Steve groaned and smiled when he shook someone’s hand. The faces stopped having individual features right after it hit him he may have had a psychotic break on national and international television. He was trending on Twitter. This was a disaster. Steve wanted, genuinely wanted to go back to the ice.

There was a break in their schedule to allow for a change of clothes and away-from-the-press time. Outside, the people cheered them on when they exited the building. Steve would have given up all his worldly possessions for the pavement to open up and swallow him whole. The grotesque statue he avoided looking at glinted in the sun in his peripheral vision. The people thanked and welcomed him as one of their own. Natasha conversed in rapid Russian with a couple of mothers and their kids while Tony signed plastic Iron Man masks.

Steve had fucked up. Some teenagers came up and politely asked for photos. A couple of brave ones took selfies. This was going to be a mediatic disaster. Even with everyone on his side, the opposing media will have months of twisting his words monstrously. Every selfie he took was another week of derogatory rhetoric towards him and by extension his superhero family. Fuck.

A young woman approached him timidly.

“Captain Rogers, sir?”

He focused hard to see her through the bleakness of his thoughts. “It’s Steve,” he said as kindly as he could. He’d flown in, fucked their country up, spewed some shit about freedom and now he was gonna go and they would still be stuck there.

She blushed. “Steve, then. I…” she faltered. “I would like to say that this was a very nice thing to hear and that it gives us hope that we can still fight the good fight.” She then said something in rapid Russian and Steve blinked. “Shit, sorry that was not English. Just thank you,” she added, wringing her hands.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped my boundaries,” he said, trying to talk exclusively to her although impossible in the group of people surrounding them. It also seemed unnecessary to apologise to this young woman, citizen of the country whose officials he slandered on tv. But he had to apologise because he had done fucked up, as Sam’s eloquently put it the last time he was accidentally insensitive, and this was a way to start doing it. “I shouldn’t have been so aggressive,” and for a second he thought of when he was tiny and how much more aggressive he was then.

“No!” she countered. “No! We have been fighting for this for months, doing whatever little we can to show it is fucked up, sorry!” And then more Russian, but angry this time and he recognised a couple of curse words. She seemed upset.

Natasha stepped in then, because Natasha was like a soothing breeze in the hot sun and started talking to the young woman. Soon they were hugging and she waved at Steve over his teammate’s shoulder. If he was still a boy, he would be sent to his room without food for such a cock-up, not smiled at and treated kindly. Slowly they moved towards their ride. When the officials exited the people booed them away, and despite everything, it was a more than a bit satisfying.

 

The car ride was oddly quiet compared to the madness Steve experienced before. Inside his mind, however, the war waged on. He fought himself. Hard. He fought memories of being blamed for things. He fought losing his friends and family. His mind supplanted the worst of scenarios and during all of it he stayed quiet, eyes shut and containing the explosions behind his lids.

His phone vibrating brought him back in the car. It had gone silent or perhaps unobserved for a while there, but now Steve felt tased every time it lit up with a new notification. There were hundreds of messages from his teammates. Emails, requests for interviews. Those would be dealt with by Pepper and her interns and Hill and her army of agents. It was unfair and Steve wished he could be small again. Small and easy to hide behind the magnitude of what the Avengers represented and perhaps then people would forget all about him. How beautiful it would be.

Bucky texted relentlessly. Question after question even during his mad speech. Then he switched to texting funny bits of stories and Steve smiled because Bucky was truly a great friend. There were private messages from all of them, including links to online stuff for when he felt brave enough. (Never, his mind offered.)

Dear God, he was a _meme_. Buzzfeed had a field day over his little incursion in dissenting. He gave up on Twitter entirely and just stopped all notifications. He texted one of the group chats letting them know he’s fine, and then texted Bucky separately reiterating that he is indeed fine.

Bucky called bullshit and Steve just ignored it because it was the truth. Whatever breakdown he had to deal with, it could wait until he was in the relative safety of his room back at the tower. Or at least somewhere in the enormity of the building where he could hide and mope until his brain reconstructed itself.

“You okay?” Tony asked not looking up. When there was no reply, he searched for Steve’s face. “Cap, you need to let it go, darling. It’s not as bad as you think. If anything, they’ll sing you songs of praise for not being me. You’re an icon, when you get real it means a lot to people.”

Steve bit his lip until it hurt. “I’m okay, Tony,” he sighed. “My brain is in overdrive and it’s tiring.” He disagreed with pretty much everything the other man said but it was neither the time nor the place for an argument, harmless as it may have been.

And on top of that Tony’s snippets of flirting pierced Steve’s throat like assassin-grade darts. In one of the group chats someone sent a screenshot of Steve giving his speech and Tony replied in all caps “LOOK AT HOW AMAZING HE IS” and Steve’s little hopeful heart could not take it.

He washed his face and back of the neck in silence, words upon words echoing in the back of his head. Regret filled his entire body and would not let go no matter how much he tried to shake it. He went to tap on dial for Bucky’s number, but if he heard his oldest friend’s voice there was no stopping his breakdown. And there were more things to do, more face to save, more backbone behind chastising words that needed support.

The photo op with the ghastly statue (Steve was adamant there was only one they moved around despite both Natasha and Tony telling him there were definitely more than one, Steve just accept it) was shorter than originally planned, Steve was sure. If anything, at least they didn’t have to pose for an hour in the scorching sun.

The National Carnival was massive. It reminded Steve of country funfairs and Coney Island in a field. It was impossible to estimate the magnitude of it without getting to higher ground. And even with how eccentric he proved himself to be, it was a bit much to start climbing on booths to get to the old rollercoaster pillars to get an idea. At least they were out of formalwear and back into jeans and comfortable shoes. They needed it if they were going to get any fun out of the experience.

They had been assigned secret service security which was hilarious given who they were, but the protocol was there for a reason, so Steve didn’t push it. It wasn’t a large group of agents, and they were discrete. It was both reassuring and annoying, having someone watch your back while knowing someone unknown was behind your back at all times.

People were polite; they waved and cheered, but gave them their space to roam freely. Tony was calm and collected, as Tony usually appeared to be regardless of what was happening. Steve was convinced it was coping mechanism after coping mechanism, and he wished he could emulate it. Because his mind was _loud_ and his thoughts overwhelming. When Natasha suggested they go in the teacups, he gladly accepted. The impending breakdown would have to wait until New York, at least. Even longer, if he could put it off. Longer, perhaps he could take a roadtrip on his bike and cry in a tent in the woods or something.

The teacups were not the worst idea, but they weren’t the best either. Steve had no problem with speed or motion in general, but his field of vision was blurred by the spinning movement and it didn’t exactly help. The squeals from children were endearing, their fun almost contagious. Or it would have been if Steve hadn’t just ensured months of harassment from the opposing media. And even the supporting media. He figured Bruce would be accomodating in giving him a remote quiet place where he could go and regroup. Or hide forever, why the fuck not?

But Steve was also aware of subtleties, despite people assuming he was a big dumb lug. Oh, he fully agreed he was dumb (see latest incident, not two hours before), but he was not ignorant. And he was not unable to understand the insides of how things worked. So he knew running away wasn’t an option. Not unless it was on official business and it was a secret mission. And even then, how fucking secret could it stay when everyone was aware he was missing. He wouldn’t be seen buying groceries or on his run. And they would be looking, Steve knew that. They would try and find him relentlessly, no respect for his privacy. They would be perceived as weak, they would be criticised even more than before, and Steve brought down enough hassle as it was.

Tony looked mildly unsettled after the teacups, something Natasha found extremely amusing. “Tony, you literally fly in a metal suit.”

“Yes, but do I randomly spin at high speed for no fucking reason?” he countered and Nat laughed even more.

They were lured over to one of the shooting stalls. The master, a tall man with a velvet top hat and an impressive moustache. He must have said something funny, because Natasha chuckled again. She explained that he wanted them to grace his stall with their shooting skills and promised it wasn’t even rigged. It was a celebration, he had said, so they were welcome to shoot and pick their prizes should they win.

Nat went first, shooting down all the little moving ducks with a ferociousness that was at least a little unsettling. The man cheered her on, pulling levers to drop more targets. They were attracting a crowd. Steve went next, adopting a much more relaxed shooting style. He was preparing for a second round of shooting when he felt Tony approach him and speak quietly not-quite in his ear, but close enough that he could feel the man’s warm breath on this neck.

“I really like the stuffed sheep,” he said matter-of-factly.

Steve’s concentration was gone, and he missed one of the targets to the crowd’s dramatic ‘oooh’. He paused. “Oh,” he sighed, frowning at Tony.

The man was grinning, so it was a logical assumption to think he knew exactly what he was doing. “You’re playing dirty, Stark,” Steve admonished lightly.

“Yeah, yeah I am,” the man laughed. “May I?”

Steve handed him the riffle with a small bow. Psychotic break or not, he cherished every non-conflictual interaction with Tony. He watched as Tony assessed the situation carefully over the top of his sunglasses, then proceeded to shoot every single target row the master gave him. It was done methodically, a clinical detachment that Steve shouldn’t find appealing, but he did nonetheless. The calculated look, the stance, the taut muscles; absolutely beautiful, Steve thought.

He mimicked the man’s earlier actions, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “I really like the stuffed sheep too,” Steve said, feeling kind of lame for using the same line.

But it worked. A barely contained shiver moved his hand minutely and Tony missed a shot. “You’re playing dirty, Rogers,” he said with a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

The master allowed them to pick smaller toys, stuffed bunnies and teddies. Tony did, slipping extra money to the man to cover all expenses. Then he let his teammates have some and together they distributed them to the children who had gathered around to watch them.

The rollercoaster gave Steve the jitters. Not because it was scary – a medium sized ride with wooden tracks wasn’t frightening at all. But it looked old and it creaked when it ran, and Tony was out of the suit and not enhanced in any way except for that big brain of his, and what if he couldn’t catch him in time? Steve hated the idea, hated the visuals it brought. But he went on with it, sat behind Natasha and Tony, hands clenching on the metal safety bar, ready to act if something went wrong. Tony seemed to have a good time, all woos and unlikely shrieks and hands in the air. Natasha made sure to film the whole thing and send it to their team back home.

Steve tried really hard not to be embarrassed by the video. He was clearly visible in the back, gentle smile on his face and an expression he could only class as loving. His saving grace was that he occasionally looked at Natasha the same way, but it was more than clear his heart eyes were for Tony. Perhaps the man wouldn’t see it – he was often uninterested in watching things sent of their various group chats.

They had made it off the ride alive, which Steve was immensely happy about. Steve was distracted by the petting zoo and the children enjoying all the animals when he was presented with cotton candy. As soon as he saw the pink fluffy texture his mouth watered. He had enough brain left to check who was offering it to him.

Tony was holding the stick in front of Steve’s face, looking straight ahead towards the people gathered next to the petting zoo. “You need the sugar,” he said simply.

Steve had already mouthed at the cotton candy and was in the process of enjoying more. “I do?” he asked, mouth half-shut with the stickiness.

“Yeah, with your metabolism and all. And I know it’s mostly not recommended for panic and anxiety, but you looked like you could use it.”

Steve kept quiet as he ate the candy, meticulously avoiding both looking at Tony and answering. When the silence had stretched on for long enough, and he was certain he wouldn’t choke up if he started speaking, he finally did it. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Mhm, don’t mention it.” He checked the stick and threw it away when he realised Steve had finished the cotton candy. “I used to get bad days a lot,” Tony offered. “It’s better these days, but the feeling stays with you.”

Steve shrugged. “Sometimes I think I still have asthma. You know, like… before.”

Tony turned to look at him for a long second before patting his shoulder and pointing towards something. “Come on, let’s get Natasha. I left her talking to a ringmaster, if we’re not careful she’ll run away with them.”

“She wouldn’t leave us here. Right? Tony? Right?”

Steve thought it was a joke at first, but then when they finally found Nat, she was casually juggling with a couple of knives. “Hi guys, this is Dmitri.”

Tony fake-gasped and slapped Steve’s arm repeatedly. “It’s too late! Quick, Steve grab her and run!”

She rolled her eyes at his antics, but agreed to forgo running with the circus for another time. “That was a fun mission,” she said randomly.

“What was?” Steve asked as they walked around some more, trying to find the next attraction to visit.

“Clint and I had a double act with a circus once.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

Steve snorted. “Oh my god, you can’t just ask someone if what they say is a euphemism.”

Tony shoved him playfully. “We know you’re doing it on purpose, Rogers!”

“Doing what?” Steve sounded confused.

“Unbelievable.”

They walked past a small wooden stall, draped with heavy velvet curtains. It had a large cardboard crystal ball adorning its front. Steve had seen palm readers stalls before, the girls he was on tour with were keen on finding out their future whenever they encountered one. He stayed away, uncertain he even had a future and extremely certain it was all a massive scam. He didn’t need some hack telling him their gloomy ideas for his future.

He was about to ask them how much more there was to see and do before they could at least go back to their accommodation if not fly back to New York altogether when he felt someone grab his arm. He bristled instantly, their security detail immediately popped up next to him, while Nat produced a knife out of nowhere. Once they assessed the situation, they all mostly stood down.

The imagined assailant was a lady who looked positively ancient; the hand grasping his forearm was bony, but strong. The most striking thing about her appearance was her cloudy eyes, framed by white tendrils that escaped the harsh bun she had her hair in.

When she spoke, her voice was clear, lacking any tiny tremble that betrayed her age. Steve was moderately spooked, if he was completely honest. She had said something in Russian; one of the security guys snorted before composing himself and Natasha smiled benevolently.

“She says she’d like to tell you about your future,” Nat informed him. “She’s been travelling with her family all her life.”More Russian. “She says she can see something about your love life. It’s unfulfilled and you’re still waiting for someone.” The woman explained something further. “Someone with dark hair and –”

Tony scoffed. “That’s my cue to leave. Gonna go see a man about a stuffed sheep for this guy I know,” he said with a laugh and walked away while Steve tried his hardest not to follow.

The old woman still held his arm in her tight grip. “Come Captain,” she said, consonants harsh and lips pulled in a tight smile. “Come.”

So he went. Natasha followed closely after she said something quietly in Russian. Three of the agents followed Tony and the others stood guard outside the stall. The inside was bigger than Steve had expected. It had a vast array of fortune telling paraphernalia, a crystal ball, tarot cards and the like. The woman sat down at the small round table and gestured for Steve to follow through.

Nat picked up a voodoo doll of sorts and the woman hissed in her general direction. “Down,” she ordered quickly. Then she followed up with some Russian, and Nat chuckled before replying. She patted Steve’s shoulder and went to sit in the entrance, where Steve was sure she could still hear everything.

“You have lost a lot of time,” the woman said and reached for his hand. “Can I?”

Steve was reticent, but the old woman’s eyes were insistent despite the clear lack of focus. It did seem as if she could see through him, inside of him. Her face was wrinkled, a darker hue accentuated by the tan she seemed to be sporting. Steve was compelled to cooperate. He wasn’t certain why, but he felt like some insight into his future, as ridiculous as it might have been was going to help settle the heavy feeling in his stomach. “Yes,” he eventually said and put his hand forward.

“You were parallel with time,” she started. She held Steve’s hand in both her own while she kneaded his fingertips. “But not anymore. You are here, now.”

Despite himself, Steve nodded. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked quietly.

“Matilda,” she replied with a smile. “You are surrounded by danger, Steve Rogers.”

He tried, he really did. But he still found himself rolling his eyes as he replied, “I do fight crime,” he said and regretted instantly. There was no reason to be rude to the old lady.

She laughed, however, and pulled Steve’s hand closer, holding it almost tenderly. “There is darkness around you, Steve Rogers.” She frowned, her cloudy blue eyes losing their shine. “There is darkness, then there is light. You will face a great trial.”

Steve wanted to not be creeped out. But Steve had been surrounded by horrors his entire life, one way or another. “Will we succeed?” he found himself asking.

“This fight is yours, Captain. Maybe you will. Maybe you will not. There is fire in your future. You were cold, Steve Rogers. But there is fire in your future. Burning angry fire. Smoke. Danger,” she repeated.

Steve clenched his free hand into a tight fist; he started pulling the other one away. “Okay, thanks but –”

She held on with surprising strength. “If you are true, Steve Rogers. If you are true you will win. And the fire will go away and you will get your loved one.”

He was unsettled by what Matilda said. He opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t get too far before their impromptu session of fortune telling was interrupted by a series of loud bangs. He stood at once, running outside where Natasha was already alert, checking their surroundings. He did his usual headcount, almost didn’t do it in fact, certain they were together. They had been for the entirety of the trip, and he relaxed for half a second before he realised that for the first time since they left New York, they were not _actually_ together.

“Where’s Tony?” he asked Natasha, who looked back with a panicked expression. Shit. “Tony Stark,” he asked the security agents, “ _where is Tony Stark?”_

They didn’t have an answer for him, and his stomach twisted painfully. They were trying to establish what had happened in their ear pieces, fast talk that Steve recognised as urgent despite the language barrier. In the distance, he could see a massive smoke column. People who had been running away from the deflagration finally reached them. He rushed forward to see if he could help anyone.

For the most part, they seemed to be okay, just shaken by whatever it was that happened. A group of teenagers stopped and explained something to him, but he couldn’t understand. He was about to get Natasha’s attention when one of the kids said “Iron Man” pointing towards the growing fire, and Steve bit the inside of his cheek.

Natasha was running behind him, barking orders in Russian. The closer he got, the worse the heat got. He swerved in time to avoid running into a couple of sheep. The petting zoo, Steve realised, was close to where the fire was. It smelled like burnt hay and melting plastic and his heart was pounding in his chest, trying to locate Tony in the mayhem. He paused to help a couple of young people evacuate some chicken, Natasha taking over so he could approach the affected area.

If Tony died – but he couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t think about it because he would pass out with grief. And if he passed out with grief who was going to help Tony? He hated the heat, but he could put up with it better than others. The smell of farm animals mixed with the smell of burnt _everything_ , but he pulled his t-shirt up to cover his nose and he kept low to try and get away from the smoke and _pushed through_ because Tony would have pushed through for him. For any of them.

He made it halfway to the burning building, near where the petting zoo had been when he saw someone walking out. His stomach lurched and he was glad he had something covering his mouth and nose to stifle the urge to throw up. He started running again, sweat dripping down his forehead.

It was Tony. It was and Steve actually _whined_ when he saw him. He felt his knees weaken, his lower back tingle, his chest _hurt_ – Tony was jogging away from the burning building, covered in soot, clothes slightly burnt where the fire got to them. He was holding a goat in his arms from what Steve could see. He was holding it close to his chest, lips moving continuously in what Steve knew were reassuring words, fire dancing menacingly behind him and Steve was fucking _gone._ The god damn fucking train hit him again, because Tony was so attractive it hurt. It actually physically hurt Steve how beautiful, how tender and loving this man was. And how utterly and disgustingly in love with him he was. Steve let himself sink to the ground, trying to catch his breath.

Tony was alive. Alive and beautiful and holding a goat and Steve just _couldn’t_. He managed to pull himself together when the man reached him and getting him to safety took priority. Steve should have been turned off by the smell and the reckless behaviour and everything, really. But this was Tony and Steve was weak for Tony.

It occurred to him that Tony had been talking to him, kneeling next to where he was sitting on the ground. The goat was still in the man’s arms, struggling slightly, but soothed by the way Tony was petting it. “Steve, you with me? Steve? Darling, are you okay?”

What? That was his line. Tony had just walked out of what was essentially a life-threatening situation. He was supposed to ask that. He opened his mouth to reply, but words wouldn’t come out. So he nodded and made a face, trying to convey his worry.

Tony let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I’m okay, come on.”

Steve was up in no time, pulling Tony to his feet as well. The goat was secure in the man’s arms and together, they walked to where Natasha was waiting with a couple of doctors and a crowd.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Tony went to go past the doctors, but Steve grabbed his shoulder and steered him back.

“Let then take a look. Please.”

He seemed reluctant to let go out the goat, but Steve put his arms out and Tony transferred it to him. “Fine! Fine, I’ll do it.” He allowed Steve to shepherd him to the back of an ambulance where he sat down and crossed his arms petulantly. “But I don’t like this. Ah, great.”

Steve turned to check what the frown was for. He tried not to join in the scowling, but it was impossible. There were reporters everywhere, swarming around their location, taking photos and trying to get close. Behind them, the firefighters kept rushing to put the fire out. Natasha had called the team back home, but his phone was still going wild in his pocket. He refused to check it.  

“I think I miss the time when I didn’t have a phone,” Steve said snarkily.

Tony smiled. “Stop being an old man. I hate the attention this is getting. As if the lunch today wasn’t enough,” he said with a sigh.

Steve’s face went blank of any emotion. In hindsight, it was probably not the best course of action, but he was unable to do anything else. If he turned, the reporters would surely photograph his expression. He stayed the same way, back to them, so Tony picked up on it.

“Shit, Steve I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that —“

“It’s okay,” he rushed to reassure the man, even though he felt it was not okay and it wouldn’t be for a while. His mind had been busy with the danger, but now it had passed, so Steve was back to hardcore overthinking.

Tony tsked. “It’s not, but we’ll sort it out together. No one is upset with you, Steve.”

He tried really hard to shut up, but he couldn’t help himself. “You don’t know that,” he said quietly, hugging the goat closer to his chest.

“Uhm, yeah I do. I know everything,” he said with a smile. “Please don’t worry, what you did was magnificent. You should have seen their faces.”

Steve sighed. “I honestly doubt that, but I’m not going to discuss this now.” Or ever, if he had his way. Bucky would push, because Bucky knew how he got, but Bucky was safe. Back home was safe, in his room where he could hide and fake sleep for the foreseeable future.

One of the more brazen reporters approached them. He had a large smarmy grin on his face, something Steve associated with a real estate agent. Or a shark loan. Or a propaganda-fuelled agenda. “Stark, Rogers, how do you feel about messing up this time?” He had a camera guy he siked on them silently.

“Go away, Jones, we’re not in the mood,” Tony said tiredly.

“Can I quote you on that?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you what you can quote—“

“Tony,” Steve interrupted. He then turned around, back straight and pulled up to his entire height, goat still secure in his arms. He rocked the scared animal in his arms to help it settle down. “Jones, is it? Back off. You’re in the way of the doctors and firefighters. And you’re overstepping all your boundaries.”

“This is not New York, Captain. You can’t order us around. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage here?”

Steve’s face hardened and he opened his mouth to reply. A police officer who was overseeing the movement away from the deflagration stepped in then. “Sir,” he said, accent present but voice commanding. “Please go and join the other journalists before you get trampled by our emergency team.”

“Are you threatening me?”

The police officer sighed. “No, sir, I’m trying to facilitate the team’s efforts.”

“Big words, man, you sure you know what they mean?”

Steve bristled and took a step forward. A hand came down on Jones’s shoulder, a hand Steve knew. Natasha, bless her beautiful deadly smile, was there to help move the idiot away. “Come with me,” she said with a smile.

“I will not be removed from this scene! Keep filming, David!”

“Wanna bet, big boy?”

“Are you threatening me?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she replied simply. “I am. Go back to the designated area or I’ll move you there. Hi, David!”

“Hi, miss Romanoff,” the camera man said quietly.

“Wow, you have agents in my crew?”

“No, you bumbling buffoon. Everyone was cleared by me, including your sorry ass. Now move,” she said one more and Steve saw her hand clench on his shoulder.

“I’ll sue you!” Jones shrieked and she steered him away.

“Oh, no.”

The other journalists there sneered at Jones when he joined them. He tried to start an argument with them, but they were not having it.

Steve nodded at Natasha and turned around, still rocking the goat. He took a step closer to Tony to shield him from view. “I’m sorry I’m in your face, I’m trying to minimise the coverage they get of you,” he said quietly.

Tony smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it. Look, I’m sorry Cap. I didn’t mean it like that, I’m so proud of—“

Steve couldn’t hear it without breaking down, so he was rude and interrupted him. “Where’s he from?”

Tony paused. For a second he seemed to want to keep going, but then he answered the question. “Some shithole of a website funded by a subsidiary of Hammer’s. They run aggressive propaganda against me and by extension against all of you. Pepper’s been siking our lawyers on them for years now. Steve—“

A doctor approached them. “Mister Stark, my name is Dr. Pavlova–”

“Like the cake?”

She smiled. “Yes, like the cake. I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you sooner. Oh, I can come back later if I’m interrupting.”

Steve could have hugged the woman. “No, please check up on him, you’re not interrupting anything.”

She looked at him slightly awestruck. Steve felt beyond embarrassed. “Oh, Captain Rogers!” She realised she was staring and quickly moved to Tony. “I’m sorry, you’re just very… uhm, big.”

Tony laughed. “He has that effect on people, don’t worry.”

She paused for a second, then went into full business mode, checking Tony’s vitals and pulling out a stethoscope. Her awe seemed to have vanished. “Mister Stark, what were you thinking heading into that building? You could have been seriously injured.”

“Are you scolding me, doctor?”

“Of course I am! Oh, I am, aren’t I? I’m sorry, she apologised once more.

“He has that effect on people, don’t worry,” Steve repeated Tony’s earlier words.

She scoffed. “You should know better,” she told him, wiping down the burns on his arms. Steve looked at her work. She seemed to be in her forties, and the motherly air around her comforted him.  

“Excuse me, I had to get Bennu away from danger,” Tony said quietly.

She looked at him. “Who?” Then she turned to Steve who was still soothing the goat. “Oh! Hi bubba, hi sweetheart,” she cooed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll forgive you.”

“You named the goat?”

Tony shrugged with the shoulder the doctor wasn’t busy with. “I picked a gender-neutral name.”

Steve maneuvered the goat and checked its belly. “Girl,” he announced. Then he saw it. “Oh, Tony.” She had no hind legs, Steve wasn’t sure how he’d missed it. She also looked young and extremely domesticated judging by the way she had settled in his arms.

“Her wheel prosthetics had fallen, I couldn’t leave her there to burn,” he argued.

“Yeah, I get it,” the doctor told him. She dressed his wounds and gave him a cloth to wipe his face. “You seem to be okay, but you need to get your lungs checked at the hospital. The dressings will need changing tonight and you need to stop running into fires.”

“Thanks, doc! You about ready to go?” he asked Steve.

“We need to check and see if we can help. You and Nat can go back to the hotel, I’ll stay.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Put that superior strength to good use, Cap, I see how it is.”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe I can do some good today.”

Dr. Pavlova smiled at him. “We watched the live feed from the meeting. I’ve got at least ten colleagues who want to shake your hand. You did some good here already.”

Steve felt himself blush. “I should have known better,” he said. “Diplomacy is not my strongest suit.”

“It’s the arms that take the cake,” Natasha’s voice came from behind them. “How you feeling, Stark?”

“Like I got stared at by the entire world, you?”

“Like I’m about to punch at least two people in the face at the same time. Dr. Pavlova,” she proceeded to talk to the doctor in rapid Russian, smiling at her when she got passionate in what she was saying.

“That building should have never been authorised,” the doctor explained in English. “Assholes, they knew it was a risk.”

“Are they going to be investigated?” Steve asked, watching Nat pet the goat. “Her name is Bennu courtesy of this one here,” he nodded towards Tony.

“Shit, he’s already attached.”

“They probably will and they’ll probably get away with it. Assholes,” the doctor repeated her earlier insult.

Nat put her hands out. “They need help with some debris, if you wanna help, Cap.”

He passed her Bennu. “Okay, yeah. You good to take Tony back to the hotel?”

 _“Tony_ is right here, guys, hello,” the man said sarcastically.

“Yeah, I’ve got a car waiting for us. Think they’ll let us in with the goat?”

Tony smiled. “I would like to see them try to take her away from me.”

“Tony, we can’t take the goat.”

The goat bleated quietly then, the first she’d spoken at all. “Oh, god. Steve, we have a goat now,” Nat informed him.

“I’m taking the goat.”

“I’ll go move some heavy crap out of the way and then I’ll meet you back at the hotel. Thanks doc! And Tony, you’re not taking the goat,” he said and walked away through the crowd to get to the emergency team.

Manual labour had always been Steve’s go-to when he was overwhelmed mentally. When he was tiny, he did chores around the house to keep busy. Simple things like dusting and doing the dishes. He used to water all the plants in his building, stopping after every floor before he could start wheezing. So helping move debris was a blessing. The more he worked, the more his mind stayed focused on the task at hand, the more he could ignore the dread looming over him.

When it was done he felt tired. Physically tired, which was great because that meant he could sleep on the flight back to New York. Once he’d get back, sleep would evade him but that was a problem for future Steve.

He thanked the people for their help, both professionals and the volunteers. They seemed lost for words at first, then shook his hand and thanked him in return. Some of them asked for photos and he indulged them because they were polite and they shared the same dirt and soot and superficial wounds.

By the time he got to the hotel he felt better about things. It was probably the fatigue, but it didn’t seem so dire anymore. He found Tony curled up with Bennu on the sofa, head on Natasha’s lap. He swallowed the pang of jealousy that overtook his heart.

“General, the last person who used this tone with me ended up eating with a straw for two weeks,” he heard Natasha say on the phone. “Absolutely a threat, sir.” She paused, and Steve could hear indistinct shouting coming from the phone. “Sir, you sound hysterical, is it hormones? Is it that time of the month?” she asked smiling. “We are backing him all the way, one hundred percent.” More shouting on the other end. “We’re not being paid at all, let alone from the taxpayers’ money.” Shouting, then a tone. She put the phone down.

“Did he hang up?”

“Yep,” she replied, popping the ‘p’. “You okay, Steve?”

Tony opened his eyes to look at him, then smiled warmly. “Feeling better, Cap?”

Steve nodded. “You?”

“Tired,” Tony said with a yawn. “You ready to go?”

“I need a shower. Was that about me?”

“Technically, it was about old white men being unable to capitalise on your speech and taking their frustrations out on me,” Nat replied.

 “Why are they not taking them out on _me?_ ” Steve asked.

“This one had Friday redirect all non-essential calls to us –”

“And a couple of really niche hotlines –”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Margaret messaged to say they’re having a blast –”

“Who’s Margaret –”

“So yeah –”

 _“Guys._ ”

“He’s using the Captain voice. Natasha, you take this one?”

“Why me? You’re the one he –”

“Enough! Come on, help me out here,” Steve whined. He was also certain Nat had been about to out him and his ginormous crush to Tony. “Do I need to know who Margaret is?” Would he want to? Because it was Tony who mentioned her and his poor heart couldn’t take it.

“She’s one of –”

“No,” Tony assured him.

“Okay? Now why won’t you let me take the phone calls?” He was sweaty and tired and hungry.

Tony sat up, rearranging the goat. “You’re free to take them if you want to, Darling. We just figured you could use a break from harassing assholes.”

“ _You_ thought that, I suggested we issue a statement and get everyone off our backs.”

“You also suggested we rename her Goatzilla.”

“Stark, you and I both know the only reason you’re against it is that you didn’t think of it first.”

Steve snorted. “Goatzilla… genius. I need to shower and pack my shit. You,” he pointed to Natasha, “stop antagonising him, he’s been through some sort of trauma –”

“I don’t want to talk about my childhood right now,” Tony yawned.

“I meant _today_. You,” he pointed to Tony, “stop being stubborn, you know you - we - can’t take the goat. I’m sure there are laws against bringing animals in the US without having put them through customs or something.”

“But _Steeeve_ –” he whined.

“But Steve nothing, it’s probably someone’s pet, have you thought about that? How would you feel if someone took… oh, I don’t know, me –” he paused for the briefest of seconds before he realised what he implied, “– any of us away from you?”

Tony was smiling now, a wide grin that reached his eyes. He turned to Natasha. “I love when he gets all righteous, makes my skin go tingly and my –”

 _“Tony!”_ Steve was positive he was blushing.

The man held Bennu up next to his face. “Look at us together, how can you break us apart like that?”

“I’m going to take my shower now, stop being a little shit.”

Warm water was amazing; Steve wanted to hide in the shower forever. For multiple reasons, including, but not limited to the water not being frozen (always a great one), the water soothing his muscles, the water helping him get clean, the water helping him buy time before he would have to face people again.

The couple of knocks on his door made him almost slip. “What?”

“Steve?” Tony called from the opposite side of the room.

Steve half-hugged himself both in protection from the outside world, and because the rush of affection was ever-present whenever Tony’s voice was involved. “Yes?”

“I would like to go home soon. Are you okay? Do we need to send a search and rescue team in there?”

Steve tried to help the chuckle that escaped him. He did, but then he turned the water off and heard Bennu bleat as Tony kept asking inane questions. “Fuck off, Tony.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things: the "stealing a goat is super romantic" came from the ao3 tag of the day blog. Joey sent it to me one night and the idea stuck, so meet Bennu the goat. I've read a post about the name of the foundation Tony opened in his mum's name, but I'm gonna go with Maria Stark for this series. 
> 
> Drop me a line and let me know how you found it. Remember, if you don't have anything nice to say, make sure it's at least constructive. If it can't be constructive, shove it up your arse. Thanks for reading, much love xx
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://llexeh.tumblr.com/)! (I also take requests and prompts in various fandoms.)
> 
> Later Edit: I remembered to give even more thanks to Joey, as well as credit for bouncing ideas with me on the phone while we're traumatising the intelligence officer I'm sure is listening in on my conversations, shout out to him for staying sane. The nervous speech, unplanned and all came from personal experience - I fucked up a TEDx presentation back in March and it stuck with me so I think I needed to get it out. Thanks for sticking with this guys xx


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